A Momster Calls
She’s calling for me again… I’m halfway through my coffee – argh! Drink it down like a shot of courage and get on with it. Coffee! It’s the most exciting thing in my life right now. One shouldn’t consume a stimulant when struggling with a ticker that ticks too fast all the time but when there are no life lines within reach you do the best you can to get through the day. At least I’m not adding an extra kick to my brew… not yet.
And so, I’ve become a coffee addicted hermit that lives with a spaghetti squash I call Mom. I know that sounds disrespectful but even she knows it’s true. She has stopped asking me the tortured question, “Why can’t I think!? What’s wrong with me?”. She is incapable of doing even the simplest of tasks.
Wait, is she calling again? Sometimes, I hear her calling me even when she isn’t calling me. There are times when I can go three days straight in a balanced and emotionally sober mood and then I just crack without warning. Am I headed for an actual break down? Will I start speaking gibberish to the lunatic in the mirror? I jest, of course, but you either laugh or cry or both at the same time to keep your insides from boiling over.
The frequency of failure is increasing to about two or so break downs a month. I call it failure because I feel it as a weakness in my character and a stubborn stain that won’t wash out. My inability to let go of the things I cannot change in myself (and others) is causing me to bend in despair. Desire, expectations, disappointment… I recycle these feelings over and over as if my heart is a yard can filled with waste. I mix the foul smelling compost until it is ready to fertilize my infantilized thoughts. The thoughts that look for ways to prop up my litany of frustrations, wherein, using legitimization tactics, I nail down all the ways in which I have been abandoned by others.
Here is the child that still dwells within.
It calls the shots and cocoons each offense into a spider like web. My struggles to break free send wild vibrations to the creature at the center of all things that waits to be fed. What shall I feed it? Ah, it comes to me now. A scrumptious morsel from the past just flew in and was easily snagged by the sticky trap. I will tell you of one of my brothers. I don’t think he reads my blog and you will understand in a moment what would lead me to that impression. Mea Culpa, brother, if I have misunderstood your absence.
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away… We were big Star Wars fans. Collecting trading cards and watching the Trilogy over and over again during our glorious summer breaks – every scene, every word memorized. We relied on each other, leaned on each other, so we could get through the chaos that oftentimes surrounded us at home. Focusing on ways to help, we tried very hard not to be a burden to our parents and we picked up much of the slack – cleaning, washing, cooking. We cleaned up the messes made by others to keep our own little lives rooted in some sort of order. As time went on we went our own way but always held an inexplicable bond.
The Empire Strikes Back! – “Luke Faces his Fears in the Dagoba Cave”
However, in adulthood, when it comes to family, he is now a door closer and a wall builder. We briefly reconnected last year as I was in need of emotional support as I tried to untangle yet another baffling war of words with another sibling. He attempted to get to the bottom of it and his presence came as some relief – he listened and understood. To my dismay, however, he quickly disappeared, as in, he has decided to completely retreat. That is his way. Run to the nearest exit and don’t look back.
At first, I was very angry. “F*ck you too!” was the tape I played in my head. Leave me in the burning building where the smoke of our shared memories still lingers. Save yourself. The old wounds from the past resurfacing and drifting around planet Erin like a ring of cosmic radiation. His silence stung me as I thought our connection was stronger than that.
I will always be a child, her child, when in my mother’s company. I thought I was over the past and the unpacking of old wounds. Living here is reliving the past. There will always be sharp edged memories that will only be blunted by distance. This is what I tell myself but I also know there are other reasons, good reasons, soul teaching reasons, that I must be here. I thought my mission was to bring some emotional/physical healing to my mother but now I realize I’m not here to heal her. I am here to heal myself.
Here is the monster that still dwells within.
Unfortunately, even though I try mightily to hold my emotions in check, eventually the tears and frustration fall like flaming arrows and my mother catches the tempered heat of my muddled fury. Even in her fragile state she continues to play her role as listener – as mother. My confessions are always followed by guilt and shame. How could I allow myself to unload my pain on a woman so paralyzed by previous traumas that her emotions no longer exist on the outside of her? She has sentenced them to life in prison in the very cells of her own body; a destructive force that has made old age unbearable.
At the end of the day, as we go through the motions of saying goodnight, I sit beside her for a moment on the edge of the bed. I think to myself, “How many times can you say you are sorry?”. Seventy times seven? I open my mouth to once again ask for forgiveness. Eyes instantly full of tears, I hold her gently, kiss her head and tell her how sorry I am for everything. She stoically pats my arm and tells me I have nothing to be sorry for and that she understands, her fears veiled but visible behind the stoicism that keeps them locked away.
A Monster Calls – “Speak the Truth” Movie Clip (5:58)
I first saw this movie several years ago and I thought it was a masterpiece. In the movie clip, the monster fiercely pushes the boy to “speak the truth” so that he can free himself and move on. “Wake up! Wake up! You lied! I need you now!” is the boy’s cry to his actualized Self. It’s a duplicitous truth that is hard to reconcile. My truth is the same. I work so hard to stave off the inevitable and at the same time I want it to be over for us both. As she grows weaker, seemingly enveloped in a cloud of distortion, the child becomes more conflicted in me and the emotional/physical tasks become heavier as her life force recedes.
How can I hold two opposing desires? I have the key to let myself out, to choose my own “happiness”, to chase my dreams, to build momentum for as long as my life allows. An open path stands before me unobstructed by the needs of others. It’s very enticing. Anyone I ask would readily agree that I have done enough. There would be no blame if I left but… the ground would open up under Mom and my brother and the house would be gone to pay for the expenses of her care. I could never look back at that and feel I did the right thing.
This is a spiritual battlefield.
Not only does it rage within the sphere of our own souls but we must also contend with the endless trauma producing assaults of the very real monsters on the outside. Daily we are bombarded by the heavy loads of propagandized artillery launched from the “dark side” that seeks to shake us and break us into a powerless puddle. Whether we recognize this or not we are, all of us, participating in the outcome. Within my personal sphere, I can’t leave a soldier behind in order to save myself. Truly, I do see my mother as a warrior of sorts. She fought the ceaseless attacks upon her family and never walked away. It was a long war and the exhaustive trauma may have disordered her body but not her Spirit. Should I do anything less?
Eventually, each of us will be faced with the “thing” we fear the most. Running is easy. I’ve done it all my life. I will not run this time. I came here to hold her hand and walk her to the next phase of her life. However, I’m two years in and I feel as though I have lost my way. I’ve become a blind guide. My grip on her hands is tight but, at the same time, I fight my desire to let go. I believe it goes both ways. She, too, is afraid. She is holding my hand, my very energy is held captive, and she doesn’t want to let it go. We both need to face the monster that is no monster at all, the Self, and bravely release ourselves from all fear.
“As long as thou hast it not, this dying and becoming, thou art but a dreary guest upon this dark earth” ~Goethe
During the so-called pandemic, humanity was brought to its knees by fear alone.
We were faced with the “thing” we feared the most. Was it death we feared? No, I don’t think so. It was facing ones self in the mirror and deciding to see or not to see who we really are and recognize the world for what it truly is… this world we helped to create. This world that manifested the reflection of the heart of humanity and created the greatest ugliness imaginable. It choked the world into submission. Don’t ever forget what they did. Don’t place it in the black hole of memory. It’s not over…
As I close this post, I am filled with angst. Today has not been a good day. My mother is behaving in ways that have me on high alert. Nothing I do seems to help. She is beyond restless. Calling for me every ten minutes to hoist her up from the sofa or the bed. It’s like playing musical chairs with an array of disjointed jazz music in the background. We’ve been back and forth several times already this morning. I’m agitated, confused, and so very tired. I’ve checked her blood pressure. I’ve checked her body temperature. It’s all fine. Could it be the blood pressure medication? I’m wondering… are we almost there? And if so, I need to get my shit together or I will not handle this well at all.
The saga continues… As always, thanks for making the time to share in my journey. ✨ If you are a care-giver, God bless you and may He provide continued strength in your journey!
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I don’t even know what to say, I do love you and I see you.
Thanks, I know you are trying – and are pulled in several different directions all the time. Hopefully, we will be able to go to the park this week.