Dear Mom,
It always drove me nuts when you used to say, “This too shall pass”, in the later years of your life. My response was always to look down my nose at what I considered your inferior brand of spirituality. Your “Way of the Cross”. Your “Way of Martyrdom” and “Passive Giving Up”. I considered it a giant copout and wanted you to aggressively go for JOY and freedom. To come out of your introverted, non-expressive ways. Okay, here's what I really wanted BEHIND all the anger: For you to reach out and grab me and MAKE me understand that you loved me by unconditionally accepting me and my quirky ways without batting a single eyelash, by darned!
I didn’t understand the wisdom of your always saying, “This too shall pass”. Of seeing everything in life as temporary. A way of living completely in the moment. In the now. I pretty much didn’t understand. . . or forgive you for disappointing me. And did a pretty thorough job of expressing my opinions loudly to anyone who would listen at the time. I was so angry at what I perceived to be “your absence in my life”. This extended adolescent rebellion towards you lasted from a few years before I left the convent in 1978, right up to when you died. It even made me mad that you were escaping poor little me by “copping out”
through Alzheimer’s.
Although I couldn’t hold much against you as you gradually slipped back into the forgetfulness.. the openness and innocence of a child though Alzheimer’s. Those last few years, you and I had some playful moments together. When we dressed up and danced in my front room on that last Thanksgiving in Moro. You and I twirling and laughing while Dad played the piano. You and I giggling and making faces across the table from one another at Dad’s funeral dinner. I loved you in spite of myself. I temporarily allowed my own walls to fall down when I looked into your wide-open eyes. They knew me and welcomed me in ways only someone with Alzheimer’s can. With an innocence and openness I had never seen in you. At least not for many years.
And now I run smack dab into your oft-repeated phrase, Mom. The one I read yesterday in Eckhart Tolle’s latest book, that suggests repeating “This too shall pass” now and then, as a reminder of the transience of our earthly lives. You were right on track all along, in spite of my own condemnation of your ways. I interpreted your apparent passivity as “martyrdom”. While all along you were wisely living in the moment and on your own journey. I love you, wise woman, mother, and friend. I touch you at this moment along my own way and say in sync with your own soft voice, “This too shall pass.”
It always drove me nuts when you used to say, “This too shall pass”, in the later years of your life. My response was always to look down my nose at what I considered your inferior brand of spirituality. Your “Way of the Cross”. Your “Way of Martyrdom” and “Passive Giving Up”. I considered it a giant copout and wanted you to aggressively go for JOY and freedom. To come out of your introverted, non-expressive ways. Okay, here's what I really wanted BEHIND all the anger: For you to reach out and grab me and MAKE me understand that you loved me by unconditionally accepting me and my quirky ways without batting a single eyelash, by darned!
I didn’t understand the wisdom of your always saying, “This too shall pass”. Of seeing everything in life as temporary. A way of living completely in the moment. In the now. I pretty much didn’t understand. . . or forgive you for disappointing me. And did a pretty thorough job of expressing my opinions loudly to anyone who would listen at the time. I was so angry at what I perceived to be “your absence in my life”. This extended adolescent rebellion towards you lasted from a few years before I left the convent in 1978, right up to when you died. It even made me mad that you were escaping poor little me by “copping out”
through Alzheimer’s.
Although I couldn’t hold much against you as you gradually slipped back into the forgetfulness.. the openness and innocence of a child though Alzheimer’s. Those last few years, you and I had some playful moments together. When we dressed up and danced in my front room on that last Thanksgiving in Moro. You and I twirling and laughing while Dad played the piano. You and I giggling and making faces across the table from one another at Dad’s funeral dinner. I loved you in spite of myself. I temporarily allowed my own walls to fall down when I looked into your wide-open eyes. They knew me and welcomed me in ways only someone with Alzheimer’s can. With an innocence and openness I had never seen in you. At least not for many years.
And now I run smack dab into your oft-repeated phrase, Mom. The one I read yesterday in Eckhart Tolle’s latest book, that suggests repeating “This too shall pass” now and then, as a reminder of the transience of our earthly lives. You were right on track all along, in spite of my own condemnation of your ways. I interpreted your apparent passivity as “martyrdom”. While all along you were wisely living in the moment and on your own journey. I love you, wise woman, mother, and friend. I touch you at this moment along my own way and say in sync with your own soft voice, “This too shall pass.”
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