A Blessing for the Brokenhearted

A Blessing for the Brokenhearted

There is no remedy for love but to love more.
– Henry David Thoreau

Let us agree
for now
that we will not say
the breaking
makes us stronger
or that it is better
to have this pain
than to have done
without this love.

Let us promise
we will not
tell ourselves
time will heal
the wound
when every day
our waking
opens it anew.

Perhaps for now
it can be enough
to simply marvel
at the mystery
of how a heart
so broken
can go on beating,
as if it were made
for precisely this—

as if it knows
the only cure for love
is more of it

as if it sees
the heart’s sole remedy
for breaking
is to love still

as if it trusts
that its own stubborn
and persistent pulse
is the rhythm
of a blessing
we cannot
begin to fathom
but will save us
nonetheless.

© Jan L. Richardson. janrichardson.com

My mom died 6 years ago this week. I am constantly awed by the reverberations of that event in my life. In recent years I have focused less on her death and more on her life and its meaning for my present and future, but this year something is drawing me back here - to that moment when everything changed. It might be because I organized, with a fellow motherless mother, a group of motherless mothers who have now been meeting for half a year - to talk about our mothering, our loss, and how those interact. So these issues are on my brain. And I am still sorting through mom's belongings that I stashed in my basement after I cleaned out her house. In her things I am finding reminders of the few weeks after her death, of the kindnesses that were bestowed upon us in such great measure from her friends, our friends, family, church family, etc. Of the intense busyness after someone dies - all the million of tasks that have to happen. But mostly I am being reminded of the way that my grief intensified in the months after her death - not lessened.

And I am becoming more and more firm in my belief that our mainstream culture does grief all wrong. There ought to be a way to recognize that grief doesn't end, that we don't get over major losses, we just learn to live with them. It's as if you get the funeral and maybe a few weeks afterwards but then you are expected to keep your grief to yourself. How freeing it could be for there to be space for people to grieve each year anew? On the day their loved one died, or their birthday, or another holiday? Or all of them? There are people here in the U.S., and all over the world, who DO have these rituals (Day of the Dead, for example) - and they are community oriented. I hope that through my own personal ritual making within my family and with the help of my motherless mothers group I can make some space for these rituals in my personal yearly calendar.

I have also been thinking a lot about how we die, after reading a few articles lately about the "aid in dying" movement. I am so grateful that Mom had access to hospice and that she had access to pain medication/control. And I was incredibly grateful to have her best friend with us, who knew much more about the dying process than we did. When we are bringing someone into the world, most people I know are very intentional and careful about choosing a midwife or doctor to assist them in bringing this life into the world. Why would we not have a midwife for dying, when we have a midwife for birthing? I certainly feel that the hospice workers partially filled this role, and Mom's best friend, but I didn't plan for this or get Mom's input. We make a birth plan, but we don't make a death plan. We will sometimes fill out a legal document that says what we DON'T want, but I haven't ever seen one that says what we DO want. In my birth plan I said I did NOT want to be left alone - that I wanted someone in the room at all times. This is an example of something that could be in that death plan. Of course we don't know ahead of time how we will die, or what choices we will have, if any - but birth can also be very unpredictable. And if our birth plan doesn't play out exactly as written, at least we have stated our values and ideals to help guide our loved ones and medical professionals.

I wish everyone who is celebrating a lovely St. Valentine's Day and wish for all of us a community that recognizes and holds all of our emotions - love, grief, anger, longing..all of them!

LGBTQ History Month...and church?

 I am proud to be part of a faith community that celebrates LGBTQ History Month (October!), whose website is www.allmeansall.org - and we really mean it, who sings songs with these lyrics, "Our God is not a woman, our God is not a man; Our God is both and neither", with a pastor who preaches that our freedom and liberation comes from saying a holy YES to who we are- whatever gender identity, sexual orientation, race, etc. we are., who not only lift up in prayer but ACT on the issues that affect us as Philadelphians - the school funding crisis, the minimum wage, etc.  I never thought I would be able to go back to church. But I can - and I don't have to check my values, or my critical thinking, at the door. Instead, I receive a great deal of inspiration, insight, nurturing, and love. And THAT is a blessing.

the red X

"No one longs for what he or she already has, and yet the accumulated insight of those wise about the spiritual life suggests that the reason so many of us cannot see the red X that marks the spot is because we are standing on it.  The treasure we seek requires no lengthy expedition, no expensive equipment, no superior aptitude or special company.  All we lack is the willingness to imagine that we already have everything we need.  The only thing missing is our consent to be where we are." - Barbara Brown Taylor

it's been a year...

Friday was the one year anniversary of the day I left my full time job to embark on this journey of less paid work and more parenting time.  

What I learned/rediscovered over the past year:

1.)  It's really hard to slow down.  I realized that I'm a lot like this guy.  

2.)  I love, love, love teaching on the college level.

3.)  I'm a bit of an extrovert and adjunct work is lonely and isolating. And underpaid.

4.)  My kid is a really fun and inspired co-conspirator for: art projects, building forts, dance parties, and anything involving nature/outdoors (sand castles, check. collecting/drawing/observing plants, bugs and animals, check. hiking and camping, check.). 

5.) It really does keep getting better.

6.) The names of all the Disney princesses. The names of all the anti-princess princess books.

7.) That brave doesn't mean pushing your fear so far away you can't feel it anymore.  Brave is one 4 year old girl so determined to get to the top of the climbing toy that she does what needs to be done while weeping the whole way (she made it).

8.) That happiness doesn't mean ease. That sacrifice can be rewarding. That hard work doesn't just happen when we're getting paid for it.

9.) When my kid asks, "Is tomorrow a home day or a school day?" and I reply, "home day" and she squeals, and jumps up and down, my heart melts a little.

10.) Brave is also living the questions.

the basement files

as most of you know, my mom died in february of 2008.
i cleared out her house, and then sold it.  in the meantime, i bought my first home.
which meant i had an empty basement to fill: with all of my mom's belongings.

it's been a busy five years since mom died - i bought a house, moved in with M and A, was pregnant, had a baby, and now have been a mom for 4 years.

so i'm still sorting through mom's belongings. actually, mom's papers. the belongings are mostly sorted. i am finding all kinds of interesting/upsetting/inspiring/intriguing/disturbing things in the mix. my mom saved all of the cards and letters friends and family sent her over the years. i found a birthday card with this saying that i really liked:

I do not wish
you joy without
a sorrow
nor endless day
without the healing dark
nor brilliant
sun without
the restful shadow,
nor tides that never turn
against
your back.
I wish you
love,
and strength,
and faith,
and wisdom,
goods,
gold enough
to help some
needy one,
I wish you
songs
but also
blessed
silence,
and god's
sweet peace
when
every day
is done.
Dorothy Nell McDonald

things i notice when i put my phone down, no. 2

• the amazing 34 trolley driver who does spoken word about what's next to us, above us, around us, etc. and makes an entire trolley full of hardened SEPTA riders start talking to each other and laughing

things i noticed when i put my phone down, no.1

so i decided to take a little hiatus from checking facebook and gmail while on SEPTA.
day one, here's what i noticed:

• this woman wearing a brilliant head scarf that i can only describe as like a stained glass window
• how men typically take up space on SEPTA by sitting with their legs wide open. women, on the other hand, sit in the outside seat with an open seat near the window for a little more personal space
• the other people who were NOT reading, sleeping, checking their phones, or talking with a friend. i feel like we're in a secret society or something...
• how hard it is to just be
• how beautiful ray lamontagne songs are 

i'll keep you posted on this experiment...

Loss

I’ve been thinking a lot about loss lately, for a few reasons – it is the season between the day my mom died and her birthday – about a month and a half apart - in which I am perpetually confused about if I should be grieving, remembering, or celebrating her life – or some combination of the three. And then I just finished Barbara Kingsolver’s amazing new book Flight Behavior. This was a book about so many things, but one of the themes that really stuck with me was loss – loss of habitat, of species, of naiveté, of innocence, of comfort, of kin, of home. And it’s also Lent. Which is a season of remembering – what we’ve lost, what we are yet to become, who we really are.

In Flight Behavior, the main character, a mom of two kids, makes her young son repeat after her, “It won’t ever go back how it was.” And doesn’t that just sum up loss? No matter what happens, I won’t ever live again in a world where my mom is here physically with me, where she can give me a hug or I can call her for advice. And this child’s life will radically change (his mother had just told him some big news, which I won’t share here – no spoilers! Read the book!). And what I have experienced, and seen happen to others, is that in these situations we typically rush to try to make it better: “It’ll be Ok.” “God doesn’t give you anything you can’t handle.” “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” “She’s in a better place.” “She’s not in pain anymore.” These are some of my (least) favorites that have been said to me and to others.

 This is why the character in Flight Behavior is so incredible. Instead of trying to make it “better”, she just tells the truth. In another part of the book, when she is gazing on the butterflies that have inhabited the land near her home – due to climate change – she says, “The hardest work of all was to resist taking comfort.” What she means, I think, is that although something may be beautiful – or appealing – that we would be better off to walk through the wilderness of the truth. That the butterflies are there because their normal habitat was destroyed due to climate change. That they may or may not survive. That the only way out is through. That we must struggle, and grieve, and be angry, and act, in order to grow into the person we are yet to become and are meant to be.

 It’s incredibly hard work, this seeing the world with clear eyes and the grieving that inevitably comes, but I think it’s also where we (collectively) find our strength. It’s where we learn who we really are. Hard work can also be gratifying. It’s where we figure out what “home” is. If home is not a place, or a person (these things change or leave us) – what can we find inside ourselves or in our community or family that is our definition of home? How can we build a world where we all feel at home, where there are more of these spaces or moments – physical, emotional, spiritual - where we CAN see clearly, grieve, yell, and scheme together?

This entire creation is amazement. You are in a big amusement park. Sri Sri Ravi Shankar

Everything's Amazing & Nobodys Happy

This was a nice reminder on this hot and sticky day!

"Life is too short to be busy."

This article really resonated with me, as I am enjoying having a moment to breathe during this time of unemployment.  Like a lot of New York Times articles, it's speaking to a small group of Americans - but I find myself and my social circle being a part of who I imagine the author has written the article to/for.

If you need a little something to brighten your day, watch this...

29. something you're listening to

28. money

happy third birthday zora bean.

i was thinking today about this post that i wrote for zora's first birthday about what i learned during the first year of her life.

it's been two years since that post, and i still feel like mothering zora teaches me so much. here's a few lessons i've been chewing on lately:

1) perfection is not the goal. i like to aim for "good enough" and often enjoy the gap between "good enough" and perfection more than i would perfection. case in point: last night, on the eve of her third birthday, mike and i found zora in the kitchen mopping the floor - with an adult size mop. was the floor spotless this morning? no. was it worth it for the moment that she said "get out of here, guys. i'm mopping!" was it worth it to see our little girl proud of her accomplishment? hell yes on both counts.

2) guilt is a mother's worst enemy. enough said.

3) not getting your way all the time is really hard to get used to - for small children and adults. but it's also an essential skill for living in the world. i find that i have more empathy for zora's crying/whining/anger at being told no when i remember how hard it is for me to not be able to sleep in on the weekends anymore or get to go out after work on a whim without checking in with mike about picking up zora or have much time just for myself except for late at night when i'm a zombie. but i also know that those disappointments are greatly offset by the joy i get out of being a mother. so i know when zora is mad about a limit that i have set that in the long run she will benefit.

4) a good cry and a warm hug are cures for many things.

5) most adult style is very boring. most of us adult people have been indoctrinated into the idea that bright colors should not be worn together and that we better watch out for "clashing" patterns (such as stripes with polka dots). we are so, so wrong! i am inspired by zora and her friends' fashion choices.

6) as i said in the post referenced above, being in the present moment is one of the gifts motherhood brought into my life. however, i have also learned over the last 2 years that being in the present moment = a lot of big feelings. i love that zora and her friends can become so mad/sad at each other, express their feelings in a big way, and then be the best of friends a few moments later. i think there is something freeing about that level of honesty - it's raw, it hurts, but it's also clean. there's no baggage, no grudges, no passive aggressive communication. when they are mad, they're mad. and when they're happy, they're happy. i think there's something to learn here...

7) children have a remarkable memory and the old cliche about children being sponges is so true! it makes me marvel at our amazing human brains. i was reading zora we march, a wonderful book about the civil rights movement. it has a page that says "we march for justice." to which zora replies,"we say 'justice' when we go outside." i say, "what?" zora says, "remember when we went to occupy philly? not the old occupy philly but the new occupy philly and then there were a lot of people and we said 'justice'?"

8) the greatest joy is in the smallest things. tonight zora was yelling happily at the moon. we got on the bus to come home, and she said sadly "bye bye moon." when we got off the bus, she spotted it again - when we were half-way across a very busy street. she started jumping up and down madly and pointing at the moon and yelling "the moon! the moon!" what luck to get to spend time with a person who notices the moon, the pictures on a carton of milk, the smallest scratch on your hand, and wonders why giraffes are yellow in real life but purple on her washcloth.

9) self-esteem is not about success. it's about trying, and failing, and trying again until you can do it yourself (see #1) and feeling the glory of having figured it out. see: crawling, walking, feeding yourself, potty training, getting dressed by yourself, puzzles, learning to write your name, etc.

10) the world is a wonderful, amazing, difficult, heartbreaking place. i am so grateful for zora.

27. something you ate

26. night

25. green

24. inside your bathroom cabinet

23. your shoes