Getting over the hump: Grace and gratitude

Forget-me-nots in the garden

Today is Mother's Day. I have previously written that I'm not very sentimental about that. But I forget that May can be a challenging month for me, full of emotionally charged events - of which Mother's Day is just one small piece.

I rode my bike to the cemetery today. It's a small, lovely, peaceful little spot in a neighborhood just north of me, exactly what a cemetery should be -- gravel roads, many trees, benches for sitting, fragrant flowers and shrubs, with markers of varying shapes and sizes acknowledging those who've gone on. Many of my family members are buried here, and in 2000, when my mom died, I placed a headstone here in her honor and scattered some of her remains. I honor her today when I take care of myself by doing things like riding my bike. She and so many others died relatively young, of illnesses that today are largely preventable. I am doing my best. And I know she would want that. 

May is bittersweet. The anniversary of mom's death is May 19. This month also commemorates more fateful dates: the end of my marriage, my move back to Seattle, a hit-and-run that totaled my car and nearly totaled me (I am so blessed). May 10 was my dad's birthday - a symbolic date I knew as a child even though I didn't know him. And, on a high note, it's the month I fell in love with Forrest. 

So it's with grace and gratitude that I get through May. I've had a few rough weeks, and I haven't been able to get to the heart of what's up with me. Frustrations at work, personal irritations... feeling like my life is a little smaller than usual in key areas... some of it appropriate dissatisfaction. But I amplify these minor irritations by twisting them in my own head... and forgetting the real, underlying emotional reasons. Awareness is usually the first step to clarity, and the ride to the cemetery was the reminder I needed.

Grief is a funny thing; it can show up at interesting times in interesting ways, and I'm not sure it ever fully goes away. We heal, and scar tissue fades over time, but the memory remains.

While I do wish other mothers well on this date, I am not very forthcoming about offering it. I'm not the one posting a photo of my mom on Facebook, or wishing my friends who are mothers or the mothers of my friends a good day. Not because I don't care. Were I to describe how I feel when I see those posts, I think it would largely be numb. I cannot summon emotion.

So today, I recognize how grateful I am for the many gifts in my world, including the grace to have compassion for myself and save some space during a time when I need a little more than usual.  

Drinking my own kool-aid

Most of the time, I'm really there. I typically don't "struggle" anymore, although I have my moments, and I know we largely create what happens to us. I own that I'm responsible for my experience. Certainly, at least, for how I react or respond to my circumstances.

Sunset over Shilshole Bay and the Olympic Mountains -
this always makes me happy, and helps me remember that life is much, much
bigger than just me, and there's way more at play.

And then, there's today. Today, I feel less than, uninspired, frustrated, not very hopeful, and even irritated. Life feels a little hard. I'm not feeling very happy. 

So, it happens. 

It happens to all of us. But I'm not my feelings, and life just is. I trust the tools I've gathered and nurtured over the years will get me through this. I do know this too shall pass.

What I also know is when I feel like this, it's often because I'm sitting with some ambiguity and clarity is not forthcoming. Something is weighing... a choice or decision needs to be considered, I'm unsettled, I'm not ready to go there. I am feeling both physically and emotionally challenged. Typically, I've learned to be comfortable with being uncomfortable... I largely embrace change.  

And then, there's today. 

  

Today, I will sip my own kool-aid. I will try to keep "struggle" from my vocabulary and remember that life just is. I am in the fortunate position to largely make choices that support me. I will ponder and drink, even though right now it tastes a little bittersweet.