When You Don't Have Your Mother.

It was very hard to say goodbye to my father when he passed away sixteen years ago. People told me that when your second parent dies it's even more difficult. I heard that piece of information but tried not to think about it. 

Once my mother took her last breath, I knew what they meant. "You feel like an orphan", some people say.  You can't really prepare for that feeling, even though people tried to tell me how it feels.

Celebrating my 16th birthday with my mother.

Unlike my father's death (which happened rather suddenly) there didn't seem to be one specific day when I said goodbye to my mother. In fact, every time I left her little room in the nursing facility, I felt like I was saying goodbye. I cried almost every time we parted. I knew the day was coming and I absolutely dreaded it.

Whether you've lost your mother physically or emotionally, (there are some who have a tumultuous relationship and feel "motherless"), Mother's Day can be a challenge. I passed by a rack of Mother's Day cards in the store this week and I could feel that lump in my throat and concrete block on my heart. 

But if there's anything I've learned from the many different deaths our family has experienced, it's that the sooner you can appreciate who you DO have left, the sooner you can heal from grief, and it's no different when it comes to your mother.

By definition, a mother is someone who gives birth to a child; to be or act as a mother to someone or to care for or protect someone like a mother. This means that any woman, whether younger or older, can actually be like a mother to you.  Look around you. 

I am thinking of a speaker and author, living in Florida, who has become like a mother to me in my ministry. I can talk to her about things that others would never understand because of the road she's traveled. She's given me wonderful advice for my own ministry. She's helped me understand what having a career in music and/or speaking ministry can do to your "normal" life and how to navigate. I always come home wanting to be more like her.

I am thinking of another woman, living in Texas, also a speaker and author, who became like a mother to me when my own mother was aging and starting to not be herself. I met Carole when I was beginning to feel the strains of caring for an aging parent and all the emotional upheaval that brings. Her words of encouragement were soothing to my tired soul.

Carole is no spring chicken herself and though she lost her mother and recently became a widow, she still travels, speaks, writes AND models caring for your body by keeping a regimented work-out schedule. What an example! She has been an inspiration to me and I come home wanting to be more like her.

There's another woman, living in Nashville, who is not an author or speaker, at least you won't find a 'book' in print, but she is writing a life that's worth studying.  She prepares the most delightful meals, keeps an immaculate home and models the beauty of a home-maker and wife, warming my soul with her example every time I'm there.

She loves spending time being a grandmother to her grandchildren and I often see her reading books, watching a movie or playing a board game with them. She reminds me that above and beyond my call to ministry, being a wife and home-maker is still at the top of the list of what women can offer their families. I always come home wanting to be more like her.

Sarah is younger than me, has three delightful children (at least when I'm there, ha!), serves as a Pastor's wife, runs a restaurant....and oh yeah, is helping her husband renovate the three story apartment building they live in. When I'm with her, I adore the way she mothers her children and models frugality and creativity. She inspires me with her calm spirit - which seems to be able to manage a hundred things at once. I always want to be more like her when I get home.

I could keep raving about the other "mothers" in my life, because I am blessed with a lot of women friends in my life who inspire me, but I'm sure you get the point. They come in the form of sisters, aunts, nieces, friends, cousins, employers, teachers, etc.

This Mother's Day, if you don't have a mother, this could be a day you'd rather skip over. I get it! But there are plenty of other women to celebrate; women who nurture our souls, our careers, our lives. In their own way, they contribute to our growth and vibrancy.

As you stop to remember the one who gave birth to you physically, celebrate the mothers around you who have helped to give birth to your soul - the ones who make you want to "be more like them when you get home".  Perhaps you could let them know how much they have impacted you.

You could even take this one step further and ask, how can I be a "mother" to someone else in my life? Each of us have plenty to share with others and we too can nurture the soul of other women. 

There are so many 'mothers' to celebrate this Mother's Day - even when you don't have your mother.

Sunday Afternoon Grief

Mother's memorial service display of flowers with our baby pictures.

The first Sunday without my mother was the day we celebrated her life with a memorial service.  I was surrounded by family and friends.  I was in a daze.  I felt fine.

The second Sunday without her I was so tired and numb from the array of emotions leading up to her death that I didn't feel much.  In fact, it was a rather normal day.

The third Sunday I was driving home from church and suddenly a wave of grief came over me as I realized that normally Tom and I would go and visit her in the evening.

We would not be visiting her anymore on Sundays.  Not any day of the week. She is really gone.

It was a very rough day.  I tried to nap but my puffy eyes wouldn't let me.  I didn't want to ride the motorcycle because my last memory of the motorcycle was trying to get home from our long trip on bikes in time to see her before she lost consciousness.

I cried most of the day. My sister called from Canada but between my own tears and a bad satellite connection, we were unable to talk long. How can it be so awkward, even with family?

There were some Sundays in the past that I would have rather stayed home to sleep or ride my motorcycle than go and visit.  Now I am free to do any of those and they aren't as appealing.  I miss her, I admit as I sit here wearing her blue gingham pajamas.

I can feel a growing apprehension of facing Sundays without her. I don't want to start a new pattern of dread in my life so I tried to approach this Sunday differently.  Knowing my husband had a meeting after church and I would go home to an empty house (which is very hard) I decided to see if a friend could have lunch with me.

I was nervous as I pulled into the restaurant parking lot.  Maybe this wasn't a good idea.  Grief can hit at the worst times and I prefer to be alone when it happens.  I wondered if I did the wrong thing by suggesting we meet.  But I am so glad I did. As she shared her own story of loss, we found similarities in our journeys. Both surprised that we shed very few tears at the funeral. The tears come before and after, but during....not so much.

I find this to be a tricky path.  My heart is full of emotions. I have a certain sense of composure that I want to maintain around the public. What's strange is that I want this composure even around my closest friends and family.  I don't want anyone to touch the faucet that controls the tears.  It makes everyone feel awkward if I cry so I don't want to talk because talking makes me cry.  It's not that I don't want to talk about her. Or about my feelings.  I just don't want to cry in front of you.

There are still so many more rivers to be released and once they start, they are hard to stop.  A few drops of rain are manageable.  A flood?  That's messy!

No one knows exactly how to handle their grief.  It's different for everyone.  There are days I want to be with people - it helps take my mind off of the loss.  There are other days when I want to be alone. I don't have anything to say.  I don't want to have to talk.  I just want to be quiet.

This stage is hard for friends.  It's awkward.  I get that.

Someone asked me today if I am attending a support group for grief.  I guess it hasn't crossed my mind too much.  I find support as I write out my thoughts.  There are so many of you that have walked a similar path and you've told me how much you relate to what I write. There is a sense of healing that comes every time I read your story, hear your path. Hear what you wear that belonged to your mother.

Just today, someone told me that they used to take Sunday afternoon drives with their mother.

Another used to go have dinner with their mother on Sundays.

Others tell of how hard it is to go home to an empty house when their spouse passes.  Especially Sunday after church.

Thanks to the friends who wait patiently for us until we figure out what it is we need. Sometimes we just don't know what we need or we are too afraid of uncontrollable emotions if we open our mouth to say what we need.

It's Sunday afternoon again.
I had lunch with a friend.
Tried to sleep.
Went for a long walk.
Remembered the friend who told me today that her mother died a year ago.  Her husband passed away 8 months ago. She found a part time job to help her face the grief and the lonely house.  It's helping.  But of course, she said it with tears in her eyes.

I understood. It's that 'Sunday afternoon grief' that comes any day of the week.

The Time Has Come!

A celebration gift from my friend.

I'm sitting in the hotel in Nashville waiting for my first meeting of the day.  I have two friends with me who have been such supporters of my vision and journey.  Last night when we settled into the hotel, Ellen presented me with a little elephant in celebration of making it this far.  She has followed my blog and given me unique gifts along the way.  I treasure them (the gifts and the friends)!

It was a great reminder that over a year ago I began to share my dream of doing not only a CD, but a big Christmas concert too.  All of it has come about "one bite at a time".  That was the theme of last year's blog - "The Elephant Diet" - accomplishing your dreams and goals one bite at a time, amidst all the hurdles and setbacks.

Ellen and her mother know all about dreams and what it takes to see them through.  She is a ballet dancer and applies herself with serious discipline.  She's not even 16 yet, but she gets this.  And thanks to her mom, Lisa, and the dedication to her daughter, she is able to pursue her dreams.

Tonight I get to rehearse with the orchestra and conductor and put feet to this dream.  It is now in motion in full force and it was nice to have the little elephant gift last night to remind me that anything is possible!

The first blog where I mention my idea of a christmas show.

The Hope Room

"The Hope Room" can be just about any room, any place or any person.  It can be accessed any time of the day or night. The common thread is a gentle pulse of hope that begins to pump light into the dark corners of your mind and soul.

This idea of "The Hope Room" came to me when I walked into physical therapy one day feeling very down about the lack of progress in my ankle.  It had been over 3 1/2 weeks since I started therapy with little change. But, surrounded by others who are dealing with injuries and working with professionals trained to help us get better, I found myself starting to feel better by the end of my session.  A renewed sense of hope.

It's good to be here, I thought.

The Hope Room can be a sanctuary, a theatre, a piece of music filling the air waves as you drive, a coffee shop, a written or spoken word and even your kitchen table.

I found it in the conference room at the retirement community where my mother lives.  There are 104 residents in the skilled nursing care facility but there were only 14 family members represented who sat around the table.  I wondered why there weren't more.  It became a room of hope for me as I realized that I am not alone in this journey.  Many expressed the same exact sentiments that I have.

We met around a large table to discuss how to make our loved one's experience better there.  I'm pretty sure I was the youngest one there.  My mother was 43 when I was born so many of my friends have grandmothers the age of my mother.  I am sometimes asked if I'm her granddaughter.  But regardless of the age differences, we were all in the same room for the same reason.  We wanted a sense of hope.

Monday I had lunch with a new friend.  She lives in North Carolina but is visiting PA.  We met when we shared a stage together months ago at a local women's conference, leading worship.  We hit it off immediately.  Now we were sitting at a little cafe in Harrisburg and she began to tell me her journey with her mother who died a few years ago from cancer.

There it was again.  There were no physical walls surrounding us in the outdoor cafe, but I felt loved and embraced by the hope that filled my heart as we compared notes as if it was a room for just two.

It was "The Hope Room".

It keeps popping up everywhere I go.

Look for it.  You will enter it as you keep your heart and eyes open for it.

Not Just A Cup Of Tea

This morning there is steam rising from my cup and tears flowing down my face.  I can't seem to stop the bouts of tears these days once they've started.

For months I've tried to be strong while moving my mother to a new room, hobble on crutches and plan a Christmas show. I have had to forfeit exercise and motorcycling - both things I love and that help keep me sane.

Saturday the dam broke.  I found my mother with wet hair, sitting in her wheelchair wearing mismatched clothes and her shoes on the wrong feet.  I was horrified.  I took the necessary steps to notify whomever was in charge and let them know this was unacceptable.

You think a mama bear is nasty when her cubs are in danger......have you met a baby bear who's mama is in danger????  Just as scary, let me tell you, but this baby bear feels helpless to defend her mama.  Of course, those in charge were very apologetic but my heart took a severe blow that I am still recovering from.  It feels like Big Foot is stepping on my chest and I can't breathe.  I felt this way when my father died.  It's the familiar feeling of grief.

Tears poke a hole and let some air in so you can start to breathe again.  The tears just keep falling.

But this morning, on the other side of Saturday, things are looking more positive as I look into changing her care, whether it be bringing her home to live with me or moving her closer to a facility where I can get there in 5 minutes, bring her home for dinner and take her with me on jaunts...just to have some kind of normalcy again.

I am about ready to have a cup of hot tea.  The mint garden leaves are brewing now and their smell takes me back to the farm where we grew our own tea.  Mother would serve it in a yellow teapot that has a cracked lid, which none of us want to part with.

It's more than just tea.  A dear friend grew it in her garden and a few weeks ago I went to get some from her to grow in my own garden.  I took my mother along so she could get out and see a garden again.  That was one of her favorite things to do and she was good at it.  We all stood and talked about life and soil. My mother soaked it all in as she sat there with us.

When I drink this tea this morning, it will remind me of that morning with my friends, my mother and my home growing up.  The hot tea is like a warm blanket in my soul as I grasp the cup with my hands. My heart seems to need a lot of comfort these days as I walk through this aging process with my mother.

It's not just a cup of tea anymore.

My lips will sip and my heart will drink.

"The Elephant Diet" DAY # 50!!!!!! Listen to our "listening party" conversation

Today is special.  It's day # 50 in my elephant diet and I'm making great progress.  Listen in on part of a conversation after Listening Party # 2!

(P.S.  "Night of Miracles" is coming together.  Heard the first rough mix last night.  Electric guitars will be recorded next week.)

"The Elephant Diet" Day # 48 People

I could blog about meeting with my business coach today and all that we talked about. I could mention that we discussed my business plan and how to fine tune it and how to present it to people who could help me with my vision. We also discussed why I struggle to ask people for help.

I am learning that there are a number of unhealthy thought patterns and philosophies regarding sharing my vision with other people. The fact that I am blogging openly about this Christmas project proves that I am overcoming some of these, but when I meet with her, I realize I have more growing today.

My coach inspires me. She has her own creative endeavors to pursue so we ended our session with her sharing her own vision with me and it encourages me to keep going. We compare experiences. I am not alone.

But I want to focus this blog tonight on the breakfast I had with a friend early this morning. As she poured out more of her life story (we are just starting to get to know each other better), my heart was moved with compassion. Her tears touched me deeply.

I walked away this morning with a renewed realization that I am really starting to care about the people who listen to my music and support what I do on a level way beyond the music. The music is a connector to deeper things, it's just the starting point.

This growing realization is a big part of what is driving this whole project. I want to touch people, with music, and be there as much as I can after the music is played.

A meeting like this morning always helps me to remember that in the end, this is about people.

"The Elephant Diet" Day # 47 The first listening party

2 friends listening

I did it.

I had my first 'listening party' for the Christmas CD and show project.

I was terribly scared and terribly excited, all wrapped into one.

But early this morning I was reading a journal of mine from 1999.  (That was the year I started my very first CD project "Under The Big Blue Sky").  I smiled as I read because in there I wrote that I was terribly afraid that people wouldn't like it and that they wouldn't like me.  It's that same familiar feeling coming back, but I'm getting used to the fact that this is just part of what an artist feels when they produce a new work .  It's bearing your soul to the world and that can be a very risky thing.

Tea and Treats

It went well, however.  Two friends took time out of their busy lives to come and experience the music and join me as I dream.   I hope they are encouraged to dream.

P.S.  "Night of Miracles" officially began it's journey in Nashville as they started recording today.  I will hopefully get to hear it on Thursday.  It's the first song of the CD to begin the process.