- Joss Whedon
I've been having a lot of epiphanies again, which always makes my head hurt. Don't let anyone fool you: Epiphanies suck. Or, having them does. Once you've worked it all out, it's not so bad. Usually you're better off. But having the epiphany, that is no fun at all.
I was re-reading something I wrote back at the end of December about holding my breath: "Holding it all in like I have been helps me keep Mom close. And I’m afraid to let it out/let go, because I’m scared to really feel the loss. It’s starting to come — the numbness is wearing thin at the edges — and I don’t know that I can do this. And even if I can, I don’t want to. I don’t want to let her go…."
The other day, a friend of mine sent me an email where she said that I sounded really happy. And, I guess I have been sort of happy for about a week now. I'm mostly moved into my new apartment and I've started writing a bit about Mom's death (or, at least, my grieving process). It's like I'm starting to exhale a little. Albeit very slowly.
One of the reasons I'm glad I moved is that I know my mom was disappointed that she never saw my last apartment. It bothered her a lot. And that bothered me. I know she'll never see this one either, but at least it's not like she KNEW about this one. I can't explain it any better than that. Plus, this isn't the place where I lived when we found out the cancer had spread or that things were going downhill so fast, or where I had to come back and live after she'd died. This is a new place. A place where I can start over. I like that.
I sent an email to a mentor of mine last week. I told him that I've been focused on telling people what I think of them since Mom got sick. I likened it to someone in a 12-step program making amends. In a way, that's what it feels like.
When my sister convinced me to join Facebook shortly after I moved into the old apartment, I did so reluctantly. At the time, I decided I wasn't going to send many friend-requests. If people wanted to be my friend, they'd find me. That was my rationale. (That, and I always assume that people just sort of tolerate my presence and I didn't want anyone to accept my request out of some sense of obligation.)
That was dumb.
Today, I sent a bunch of requests to a bunch of people from derby -- some of whom I've known for years -- because I realized a couple of things. 1. I wanted to tag them in pictures I had; 2. If they didn't want to be my friend, they could ignore me; 3. It's important to let people know you think about them. (I really do have to learn things about 16 times before it sinks in. Geez.)
The day I got home after Mom died, I made her favorite cookies for my co-workers -- to thank them for their kindness, for their understanding, for their support, for covering for me for the three weeks I'd been out. I was only able to do it because I was in a completely shutdown state. Total zombie.
At Christmastime, I'd intended to bake like I always do. Got all the stuff. And I couldn't do it. I just couldn't face baking, as ridiculous as that sounds. My mom taught me to bake when I was in second grade. It was always my way of relieving stress and showing people my appreciation (traits I inherited from my mother). Baking always, always, always makes me think of my mom. And, it's been too hard to even think much about doing it.
Until tonight. I just baked her chocolate chip cookies. I was very distracted, and I had to consult the recipe (I've been baking them from memory for half my life). But I made them. And I didn't completely freak out, either.
I posted on Facebook that I was going to bake and was worried about how it would be. My friend Jed, who used to work with me, posted that he remembered my cookies. Makes me want to send him some, two states away.
Because, memory is an incredible thing. I have gone through much of my life feeling pretty invisible. It always amazes me when someone a. notices me or something I've done and b. remembers it. It's like they're saying, "Hey, you're important." It's an incredible gift. (Maybe this is why I focus so much on details -- and on remembering them. It's my way of saying, "Hey, you're important. You matter to me." Kind of like giving someone a plate of cookies I've baked. Or monkeys from a quarter machine. Or random missions to seek out joy/bring joy to others.)
I was talking to my friend Shawna about sending her cookies, and she said, "You don't have to do that." I told her that of course I didn't HAVE to, but that I'm my own girl and I'll do what I want.
I said it without thinking.
But the phrase "my own girl" is incredibly important.
Years ago, when I broke my engagement, I wrote this poem (the only good poem I've EVER written) about said broken engagement. It starts out, "There once was a girl, a plain girl, / who lived in a kingdom / rich with berries, corn, and cows." It ends, "...she rode away / on her broken dream / and was her own girl once more."
Only, when I wrote it, I wrote, "and was a plain girl once more." One of my thesis advisors didn't like the repetition and didn't like the message of the girl being plain. She wanted the girl to be strong. So, she advised that I rework it. I changed it to the line above, but I never totally felt it.
Until now.
I AM my own girl, and I'm not sure when it happened or how it happened, but it's true. I am my own girl who stumbles blindly through so many things. Many people wouldn't understand the choices I've made, or agree with them. But they all add up to me being who I am. Sometimes, I take the long way around. Ultimately, I end up where I need to be. And it's not easy, but what in this life is? (It's like saying, "Hey, you're important. You matter to me." They're easy words to say -- even to mean -- and yet how often does any of us take the time to remember to say them?)
I guess I am kind of happy this week. It doesn't mean I won't be miserable next week. Or next month. Or even five minutes from now. But I'm learning to take things as they come to me and to remember to appreciate the beautiful people and experiences in my life as often as possible.
The noticing is important, but the remembering is key.
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