Memories of My Mom

Today I stood in the middle of 15,000 people and cried like a baby because I missed my mom.

Mom has been gone for a little more than three years now and I'm still not used to it. I think of her all the time and wish she were here to go to my girls dance recitals, my boys high school graduations or just to talk to about the boring day-to-day stuff like we used to.

Lately there have been quite a few reminders of my mom.  Last year I planted a crepe myrtle tree in
honor of my mom and grandfather. I thought it might not have survived the winter but instead it blossomed beautifully. In my front garden, the morning glories climbed up the trellis, through the garden and down the sidewalk.

Kid 2 was going through some books recently and he found an old boarding pass I had used as a book mark. It  was the boarding pass I used to fly home on Christmas Eve 2010. Me and 6 kids rushed to board a flight, knowing it was my moms last Christmas, but not knowing if we'd get to her before an approaching blizzard. It was a blizzard that ended up shutting down most of the Northeast United States. We landed in Philadelphia just as the snow was starting to accumulate. It was the best/worst/craziest/happiest/saddest most memorable Christmas ever.

That old boarding pass is still sitting on my dresser. For some reason I just haven't thrown it away yet.

Today the kids and I participated in the Susan G Komen Race For The Cure. We've wanted to do the race for a few years now but we always had other commitments. Race For The Cure raises money
and awareness for breast cancer. Since my mom had liver, lung and brain cancer, but not breast cancer, I didn't write down that I was running in memory of my mom.

But then a weird and unexpected thing happened.

As we were standing in the warm up area before the race, I started noticing all the names on other peoples shirts that they were running for. Almost everyone was running either in celebration of, or in memory of, their mother, their sister, their wife or a friend. Some had actual names written on their shirt. Many just said "In memory of my mom".

Standing there in that sea of pink t-shirts, I became totally overwhelmed with emotion and started crying. More like bawling. As music played on the stage and people danced and cheered around me, I just stood there and cried. It was Kid 5 that was the first to notice something was wrong.

I told him I was OK, I just missed my mom. He put his arms around me and said "I miss Mimi too."

I pulled myself together and set out on the 3.2 mile course. I've often said that you meet the nicest people at races, and today was no exception. I talked to a man whose wife had just had a baby last night, but she insisted he be at the race today with their other children to run in honor of their aunt. A woman, not all that much older than me, was racing in memory of her daughter. Not in celebration of, in memory of, her daughter. I can't even imagine. Many women were running for their sisters. And I was surprised and happy to see so many men running in celebration of their wives. It's probably the only place I've ever seen so many men proudly wearing pink.

Tonight my mom, the kids Mimi, was on all our minds. They asked if next year I will put my moms name on my t-shirt even though it wasn't breast cancer that took her. Yes, I told them, I will. Cancer is cancer and cancer took my mom from me.

Next year my t-shirt will say "I run in memory of my mom. And I miss her every day."

Dancing With My Mom: In Spirit Only Now

Dear Mom -

I'm still pretty pissed at you.

You died and I wasn't done needing you yet.

And now it's been five months and you haven't even visited me.

Kim says you are still watching over me and that's why John didn't get hurt when the swing broke last week. Yes, in case she's wrong and you don't know about this, the swing broke just like last summer. He wasn't hurt this time, just scared to death.

Well if it was you that kept him from getting hurt thank you. But it's not enough.

You know we joked about how you'd come back and haunt us if we did things you didn't like. And I believed you when you told me how your grandmother visited you when Dad was in Vietnam. And I know you believed me when I told you about Pop being here in my house in Memphis the night he died.

So where are you? No dreams. No visions. No visits.

I want levitating dishes or things in the house mysteriously moved. I want vivid dreams that I remember in the morning of you telling me my future or giving me answers I'm seeking. I want that psychic lady that used to be on the Montel Williams show telling me something only you would know.

Tonight Matt was driving (yes, he has his permit now. At least you aren't around to have that worry!) and I was playing with the radio. He HATES when I constantly flip radio channels. Anyway, I was flipping through and he said "stop there."

It was Neil Diamond's Cracklin' Rosie. What 17-year-old boy wants to listen to Neil Diamond?

But we did. And I told him how when me and Kim were kids we would all dance in the kitchen to Neil Diamond.

And for a few minutes I laughed and smiled and forgot to be mad at you.

107 Blog Posts, Lessons, Tears - The Journey Has Just Begun

Recently it was brought to my attention that I didn't write a Happy 100 blog post. Well, not only did I not know I was supposed to write a commemorative 100th blog post, but I didn't even realize I had reached 100 already!

So, tonight we have Congratulations 107 Blog Post.

I started this blog almost exactly 9 months ago with the intention to get back to journaling, rekindle my love of writing and a place to talk about and share my yoga. I had friends who wrote blogs that were fun to read so I figured I'd give it a try. I honestly didn't think anyone would read it, and I honestly didn't care. I was writing for myself.

I had no idea then the topics that I would end up writing about, the truths I would share here, or how important this blog would become to me.

I wouldn't have believed there were going to be nights I cried as I typed, but I had to keep typing in order to stop crying.

Yoga - I wrote about poses on the mat, living yoga off the mat, and even a couple posts about the actual yoga mat.

Kids - last summer was my summer spent riding in the back of an ambulance to LeBonheur Children's Hospital where kid #3 would end up in traction, surgery, casts and weekly doctor visits. Just as he was finishing up his summer in a cast, kid #5 fell and we began the process all over again. Looking back over those blogs now I'm reminded how  the rest of the kids came together with concern and compassion. For a moment in time the sibling rivalry and bickering stopped and we as a family were there for each other.

Career - I've been very fortunate to to have had some success in my yoga teaching. I've been to Los Angeles and San Diego to train with some amazing yoga mentors. I even got to spend an an amazing weekend with John Friend  where I can honestly say I met some of the nicest yogi's ever.

Cancer - when this blog began, I had a healthy mom who was happy I was finally getting back to writing. Shortly after I started writing again, she was diagnosed with cancer. Just five months later she was dead. Looking back at the posts I wrote about mom being sick, I see the increasing fear in my writing. My posts about mom began in a "well doesn't this suck" kind of way. They quickly became more serious and more powerful. Some of the hardest posts I've written have turned out to be my most read posts. I've been told my writing has helped other people going through their own difficulties. That's one of the best compliments a writer can receive.

Finding the writer within me - Starting this blog reminded me of and returned me to my first love. I may have forgotten for awhile, but I can't not write any better than I can't not breathe. It's part of who I am. And in a surprise turn of events, my YogaLifeWay blog here has turned into  recurring posts on  Elephant Journal. You can read my Elephant posts by clicking the links on the side listed here -->
under the Elephant logo. (Please click the links! I promise it's more good stuff.) My latest post sort of takes everything I've written about here in the past 9 months and applies the lessons it's all taught me.

I had no idea what was going to happen when I started this blog. I have no idea what is yet to come. I'm pretty sure more tears, more laughs and more lessons. I'm honored that so many are reading my posts here and over at Elephant. The only way I can keep doing this though is to keep my intention the same. I'm writing to me, for me.

Thank you for joining me on my journey.

Thank You To My Stand In Moms

Being married to a military guy, I've spent most of my adult life living away from family. I haven't had the luxury of having my mom close by for holidays, babysitting or daily advice.

That's where my stand-in moms come in.

I've been extremely fortunate to have an amazing group of intelligent, strong, loving women step in and be there for me when I needed them.

When I lived in Jacksonville, FL my boss at the newspaper was more than just a boss. She was the first woman to take me under her wing. I'm embarrassed to admit I can't remember her last name anymore, but when my my first child was born,  Sandy was right there outside the hospital nursery crying and hugging me with my own mom. And when my mom had to leave Florida to go back home, Sandy was there to tell me it's OK, sometimes babies just cry and I'm not doing anything wrong.

Never too old for yoga!

My current group of stand in moms is quite literally a group. They are my SilversSneakers class members at my local YMCA. SilverSneakers is a senior health and fitness program. We meet three times a week for yoga and low impact aerobics. They range in age from 50ish all the way up to 84.

Eighty-four years old and still stepping back into Warrior II and bee-bopping around the room to blaring 60's music!

My SilverSneakers class has stuck by me through sick kids, financial issues, work issues, husband issues and this year, they helped me through losing my mom.

As mom was dying of cancer, knowing I needed to get to work each day with a smile on my face and stand in front of this feisty group kept me going. And the days when I didn't have a smile on my face, that was OK with them too. And even on the tough days, I always left class smiling.

This group has been through it all. They've lost parents, children, spouses and friends. They've lived through bad times including wars, floods and financial losses. Yet they keep going and show up to the YMCA every morning.

My SilverSneakers group, and yes I call them MY group, never hesitates to give me advice (wanted or unwanted), encouragement and most of all their love.

All the things I no longer can get from my mom.

I miss my mom, but am eternally grateful for all my stand-in moms.

Happy Mother's Day.

First Birthday Without My Mom

Dear Mom -

Today is my birthday. I'm 42, exactly 20 years younger than you were when you died. Maggie told me today she'll be 13 when I die. That means I only have 7 years left. I'm not all that concerned about her premonition considering her exact words were, "When I'm 13 you're going to die and can we have chicken nuggets for dinner?"

You'll be very glad to know Dad did a good job today. He called me this morning and offered to sing Happy Birthday, texted me later and his birthday card arrived in the mail today. Thank you for the check and yes I know it's to use on something just for me! No groceries or gas in the car. I already have a yoga workshop in mind I'll put it towards.

You'll also be glad to know Kim has taken over your job of forgetting the time difference and texting me very early in the morning. Not just on my birthday. Many early mornings my phone beeps and wakes me up before I'm ready. I tell her it annoys me but it makes me smile because it reminds me of you.

I made myself a chocolate mayonnaise cake for my birthday. I used to call you every year for the recipe and I remember last year you yelling at me to write it down. Did you know then I wouldn't be able to call you this year?

I almost started to cry making the cake. Not because I was making my own cake, and not because my little helpers were making a mess, but because you weren't here. I'm still kind of mad at you about that. And then when I was making the icing I hit the wrong button on the electric mixer and powdered sugar went flying everywhere. It's kind of funny now, but not then.

The cake didn't even taste that good. Maybe because I just wasn't into eating a cake I couldn't call you about, or maybe I'm just finally done my "leave me alone, I'm grieving so I'm going to over eat binge". Oh yeah, I've been on quite a binder. You wouldn't be so happy about that.

But my new friend Wanda told me it's how I grieve and I need to let myself do that. She keeps asking me if I've had a good cry and I'm sorry but I haven't. It was actually her idea that I begin writing letters to you.

You'd like Wanda. I wish you were still here so I could tell you about her. Although it's very interesting that she came into my life right after you left me. What's that saying? When the student is ready the teacher will come?

You taught me a lot, Mom. And not just about baking cakes. I guess now I need to move on and learn the lessons your death is supposed to teach me. Because eating this cake isn't teaching me anything except how many bites does it take to get a sugar headache.

It takes four.

Last year you would have told me that.

Crying Because of A Man: My Mom Would Be So Proud

If you are even remotely involved in my life you know by now Elephant Journal printed an article I wrote about the Yoga Book Club on Twitter.

In case you are the one person who has been hiding in a cave I haven't found yet to tell, you can read it here: My first Elephant Journal article! See that's really my name and picture!

A couple weeks ago Bob Weisenberg, Elephant Journal Yoga editor, emailed me and asked if I'd be interested in writing a story about the book club. At first I shouted YES. Then I sat down and wrote a proper, calm, cool and collected email response saying of course I would write something as time allowed.

Then I did nothing for 4 days, paralyzed by fear. Who am I to think I can write for Elephant Journal? Never mind I have a college degree in print communications, never mind I began my career days as a newspaper reporter and freelance magazine writer. That was years ago.

But in the back of my mind I kept thinking about my mom.  In one of our quiet moments together before she died, she told me how proud she was of me, how much she loved me and to get off my ass and start writing again.

Yep, that's my mom.

So finally I sat and I wrote and I emailed it off. And Mr Weisenberg - the Bob Weisenberg - said he loved it. He liked me,  he really liked me! Well OK, he liked my writing but I think if he spent enough time with me he'd like me too.

He said he'd not only like to print the book club article, but offer me a regular monthly blog on Elephant Journal.  Did you hear that mom? I got off my ass. I took a chance. And it worked.

Does this mean I've passed the Elephant Journal litmus test for coolness? Does it mean I'm a hipster yogi? I'm letting myself believe it does. (No worries about my head getting too big. I have six kids who right now are complaining about the gross dinner I made that will keep me very grounded.)

But mom's not here anymore for me to share this with her. And when I picked up the phone to tell my mom that the Bob Weisenberg from the Elephant Journal liked my writing, it hit me that mom really is gone now. Damn. She would be so proud of me.

So I cried because it feels so good to be writing again. It's been a piece of me that's been missing for too long now. And I cried because Bob Weisenberg validated that missing piece. And I cried because cancer stole my mom from me. And now another piece of me is missing that no one can ever replace.

So I shall keep writing. But first this cool, hipster yogi needs to go squash a dinner boycott. Mom would be so proud of that too.

20 Years: One Photo, Many Memories

Me at 20.
Mom at 41.

One of my friends made an interesting observation today. My mom was about the same age I am now when this picture was taken.

Why hadn't I realized that? 

My god we were both so young.

And so hopeful and full of dreams.

In the past 20 years:

• Mom was there for every baby that  
• was born. That meant when both me and my sister had our first babies mom had to be in two different states just a few weeks apart.
• Mom helped me set up a new home each time my Navy career husband said we're transferring.
• During difficult times she reminded me I always had a soft place to land at home.
• She drove the six hours one way when I was living in Virginia Beach just to babysit so I could go to the Jimmy Buffet concert.
• And she flew to where I was living to babysit again for my trips to Las Vegas and Los Angeles.
• She let me use her Macy's credit card and bought me my paisley stiletto Carlos Santanna heels.
• When each of my kids had their 10th birthday she sent them a plane ticket to Philadelphia to visit for a week.
• And she stayed in constant phone contact with me for the whole 2 hour flight as my kids flew alone their first time.
• She walked Bourbon Street with me. We both earned our beads.
• She became a technologically savvy grandma sending daily text messages, playing on her iPad and regular skype phone calls.
• She was a regular in Tai Chi class at her local YMCA and attended my yoga classes at my YMCA.
• She became more involved in church as I pulled away from organized religion. It was never an issue. Many paths to one truth.
• Our relationship evolved from mother/daughter to grandmother/mother. But through it all our friendship grew stronger.
• Together we rediscovered our love of horseback riding. When I moved to Tennessee she bought a pair of real cowboy boots. I teased her all the time to just give them to me. Before her death she finally gave me the boots. I don't want them anymore. They are sitting in a box in my closet.

I keep looking at that picture of us together on my wedding day. We had no idea what the next 20 years would throw at us. Or how much we'd need each other to get through it all.

Missing Pictures & Missing My Mom

Me and Mom on
my wedding day

This is the only picture I can find of me and my mom.

How is that possible?

Obviously this is my wedding day. I was so young. Too young to get married.

Mom was 62 when she died. She was so young to be over taken by cancer. Too young to die.

Soon after this picture was taken I yelled at my mom to quit taking so many stupid pictures. It hurt her feelings and she started to cry.

I really haven't cried much since I got the call she was gone. Haven't felt like doing much of anything actually.

On my wedding day my mom made me promise I would finish college. Of course I graduated and she was there to watch me get my diploma.

The night before we took mom to in-patient hospice, she made me promise I'd finish my Yoga Therapy certifications. I told her I'd finish, but honestly not with as much enthusiasm as I had with my earlier promise.

Without mom here who will watch my kids as I travel for my trainings? Who will help me financially when I come up a little short for the next levels tuition? Who will tell me to quit whining and start studying when I tell her I just don't have the brain power anymore for advanced anatomy?

I found out today that mom also made my sister promise to go back to school. My sister has already cut back her hours at work and is looking at beginning courses soon.

Both my sister and I are grown women with families of our own now. Yet we're still trying to make mom proud of us.

Why can't I find any more pictures of me with my mom?

Clearing the Path

Last night's Thunder Snow dropped 16 inches of very heavy, very wet snow upon my area. When I woke up this morning it was beautiful. The trees were bending almost in half under the weight of the snow. It was pure white everywhere you looked.

But there was little time to enjoy it. We needed my parents road and parking area cleared so the ambulance could transport mom to inpatient hospice. She needed to get there. It was time.

My two nephews, 10 and 16, were outside even before me to begin shoveling. At first I just stood there, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of where to begin.

"Just start shoveling!", the 10 year old hollered at me.

Sixteen new fresh inches on top of the 6 inches already on the ground from last weeks storm. Where do we dump our over-full shovels?

Notice the snow is higher than the car.
Yet the sidewalk and street are clear.
It was hard work but everyone
pitched in to help.

The mounds of snow we cleared lining the sidewalk and parking lot are almost as tall as me.

As we were working up a sweat in the cold temperatures, the neighbors began drifting out to see for themselves. One of the men on the street told me not to bother, that once the plow came down the street we'd have to start all over again anyway.

No, we have to keep shoveling. We need to get mom out.

Soon word began to spread, and almost the whole street was out shoveling with us. At one point we realized the snowplow wasn't coming because our street was literally snowed in. No one could get in or out past the huge snow drifts that were blocking the way.

So little by little, shovel by shovel, we moved the snow.

The ambulance arrived right on schedule and immediately got stuck on one small patch we thought was out of the way. No one needed asked for help, everyone just started shoveling around the ambulance's tires and throwing salt down for him to drive on.

And then the neighbors disappeared. I don't know if the task was done so they moved on, or if they left to let mom preserve her last bit of dignity as she was wheeled out of her home for the last time.

But her path was prepared with the love of the neighborhood she lived in for almost 40 years. The kids that I played with as a child, that she was room mother to a long time ago, are now adults living here. They, and their children, helped clear the way for her.

My nephew left before the ambulance wheeled mom out. He couldn't watch. That's ok. His final gift to her was complete.

We've all done everything we could to make mom's transition as smooth and pain free as possible. I don't know of any other way to say I love you.

Thunder Snow

There is a snow thunderstorm going on outside right now. Blizzard-like conditions with thunder and lightening.

It's awe inspiring, but not really scary.

My mom is spending her last night at home in the house where she's lived for almost 40 years. Tomorrow the ambulance will take her to inpatient hospice care.

It's time for her to die.

It's sad and heart breaking, but not really scary.

I lay in bed next to her tonight and watched the storm. We listened to the wind howl and the tree branches crack under the weight of all the snow. We hugged and laughed and cried.

She's weary. She's ready. It's time.

Thunder snow is very rare. I'm glad I got to experience it.

I'm grateful I was able to be here to help mom with her transition. To let her know I love her and it's ok to move on now.

I pray I brought her some comfort in the midst of her storm.

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens. [Ecclesiastes 3:1]”

Stay Here Stay Now

I can't sleep. It's after midnight and my eyelids are heavy yet I'm fighting rest. If I go to sleep now, the morning will come too soon and I'll have to leave and go home again.

I've had trouble all day staying present in the moment and not letting my mind wander into the future. My mom's future is uncertain right now, and it's easy to make yourself crazy thinking about it.

Mom was feeling ok today so I drove her up to visit the local Gilda's Club. Gilda's Club was started by Gene Wilder after the death of his wife Gilda Radner. It's a place for cancer patients and their families to gather. It was a beautiful place with very friendly people. And I successfully kept my "are you good enough for my  momma" tendencies under control when I grilled the yoga and pilates teachers on their qualifications.

One of the remarkable things about this Gilda's Club is that it is in an old building that was once a part of the underground railroad. And you can go down now into the basement and walk through the tunnels that the slaves hid in on their trek north.

The woman giving us our tour offered to take us downstairs. Mom is in no condition to be going down steep steps or crawling through tunnels, yet she said she'd sit upstairs and wait because she knew how fascinated I was by the history.

I didn't go. If I can't go with my mom I'm not going. I know it means I may never get to go. I'm not going now.

After, she said she was hungry and wanted some lunch. It's the first time she's said she's hungry in weeks so I couldn't get the car fast enough to the diner she suggested. We sat and talked and had a delightful lunch. We talked about the now and about the future. As we talked my mind kept tormenting me with "what if" and "what about".

I had to force myself back to the conversation. At one point I even responded to a comment she made about her future with "look how big these carrots are in my soup." Stay present, stay focused, enjoy the now.

In yoga we call it having a drunken monkey mind. The Yoga Sutras call it chitta vritti. Always thinking ahead and even projecting fear, worry and anxiety into the future that we forget to enjoy where we're at right now. The yogic aim is the cessation of mental fragmentation. In lay terms it means enjoying the present moment.

The future is already written and no amount of drunken monkey thoughts will change it. The morning will come whether I sleep or not. I will someday have to say goodbye.

But for now I'm going to try to remember to just enjoy laying in bed next to her, watching tv, laughing about the kids and even talking about the future. Because the morning does always follow the dark.