My Mother’s Legacy

This morning, two days after my mother’s birthday, and two days after my usual slump during this time, I get a revelation. I thought of it as I was journaling about what Annette does for her daily routine for exercising. What I love is that she doesn’t tell me what I “should” be doing. She talks about what she is doing and that inspires me to do something. The light bulb in my head flashes on.

What Annette does isn’t something I can see myself doing. Others tell me of their morning routines and that’s not for me, either. So, what is? What can get me out of this chair periodically to do physical movement (besides fingers across a keyboard)? What could become a Sasha routine? 

This concept has been building for some time, but I haven’t been able to get past setting up a schedule. I won’t stop working when words are flowing. I can’t interrupt focus on a job at hand. Setting up a time-related schedule will not work.

I’ve been so tired lately, extremely tired. Even after a good night’s sleep, I still feel tired. I can’t think clearly when I’m tired. And I find I’ve been getting angry easily. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed for a long time. Wait! Doesn’t that signify a lack of oxygen to the brain?

Duh, and haven’t I had intense training in energy and breathing? I know what I need to do! I have known for a long time. I just couldn’t figure out how to get myself to do it. Once out of practice, it’s so hard to get back into it. 

The words of Annette and Nan talking about their daily routines and how they work at keeping themselves healthy seep in. Here are two successful, self-assured women who discovered what works for them. I don’t have to do what they do. I can do my own thing – and I already know to do it!

The revelation this morning is about how Ma and Margaret changed rules to games to make it more interesting for them. I’ve always admired that. They’d take popular games like croquet, Yahtzee, and Parcheesi and make them new and fresh. What I admired, too, was their commitment to play by rules. They may have changed the rules, but rules still needed to be followed. Their games were not cut-throat competition. It was important to play fair and encourage other players. These were values that were instilled in me from an early age.

I never realized just how much that concept was imbedded in me. As a young girl, I wasn’t interested in exactly what other girls were. That was probably why I wasn’t popular in school. I seldom want to do things just like the next person. I never have and never will. 

So, here’s my mother’s legacy come into play once more. Exercise: I can’t and won’t do it like everyone else, I’m not about to parade my body up and down the street – at this time (although I miss walking the woods or beach,) and I won’t waste any more money on gyms full of good-looking, hard bodies. That means it must be under my terms and something that I am willing to do.

I can do the Tai Chi form, get on the air walker, or Tai Chi dance in between projects. I can take a break from the chair, for instance, after the morning journaling and first writings. I can get up in between each part of the newspaper work: calendar, editing, and writing my weekly column. When I go outside to put up the birdfeeders, I can get in some fresh air movement.

Thank you, Ma, for showing me it is OK to do thing my way. 

I have a plan and I will start it today!

Looking for Some Kind of Forgiveness

This morning I get up feeling refreshed. All the deep emotional outpouring yesterday cleared something within. I pick up my colored pens (today I am using orange and brown pens) after doing my usual morning chores and settle into journaling.

I talk about my mother a lot – if not to other people, at least with myself. I spend a lot of time on self-reflection and I analyze my thoughts and feelings. I consider why I act in such ways and contemplate the reasons behind the life choices I make. And I think and think and think.

Two words always jump out – I know – because I do know, and even though I do know, I still go through all this soul-searching. It’s what I do. It helps me figure things out and helps me understand why I do what I do. It also helps me understand life in general; not just mine, but I can see why others do what they do. (That doesn’t mean I have to like and agree with what they do, but I can understand… or I have a bit of understanding.)

So I know. I know I don’t have to feel guilty for my decisions. I know I don’t have to have regrets. I know I don’t really have to explain myself, but I do it because it helps me; and sometimes what I go through may help someone else with understanding their own lives, plus we find we are not so all alone when we share. I know what I experience, others, too go through.

I know I am not looking for someone to tell me what to do. I know my “talking” is putting words to my feeling so I can “see” my life better. I know what I want from my life and I know who I am. 

I also know there are always questions and, for me, a hint of self doubt; those old self-loathing feelings sometime creeping out of the past. And even though I ask questions, a good part of the time I know the answers. Am I a good mother/grandmother? Was I a good daughter? What can I give others to return the kindness and love given me? I know who I am, so why do these questions keep coming up?

The holidays are often spent in this soul-searching, especially around the issue of family, and today it hits me – a topic I keep avoiding because, in reality, I know the answer. 

Forgiveness. 

Even though I know the answer, there is still part of me that… yearns… to know that I am forgiven. Yes, I know there is no need to ask. I know I am forgiven. But self-doubts tend to hover in the subconscious ready to jump out and nag. I know my mother forgives me for not being the daughter she wanted and I know she is proud of me and she loves me for who I am. I know my sons forgive me for not being the typical mother/grandmother. I know everyone forgives me for isolating myself. My kitty, Pele, of course, forgives me anything.

I also know I have to forgive myself. And because I keep doubting (well, on one hand I do and on the other, I don’t) does this mean I don’t really forgive myself for whatever it is I think I do or have done wrong? 

Forgiveness… is maybe one of the biggest words of all time; that, and love.

Cannot Move Forward Holding Too Much onto the Past

I spent yesterday, Christmas Day, exactly as I planned… but something shifted within me as the day went on.

I wrote the morning journal pages and blogged. I posted a Merry Christmas to all on Facebook. Then I cleaned of the table and got out the game of yap. This was my mom’s favorite and after her passing on Christmas Day 2011, the ensuing Christmas Days were spent playing as three people – as if she, my aunt, and I were playing the game just like we used to. It was my way of honoring their memory, especially my mom’s. She would like that.

However, within half an hour, or less, of playing yesterday, I was bored. I’ve never been bored playing yap before. I even talked with them about “their” plays, but for some reason, my heart wasn’t in it. This year, it felt meaningless. It didn’t feel like they were with me.

What did that mean? Does it mean that it really is time for me to let go? Ma certainly wouldn’t want me pining myself away over her memory. I certainly miss her every day of my life, but perhaps I no longer need to honor her by playing a game. The honor is in always loving her. She was my mum and there’s something special, so very special about mothers.

Maybe it’s about layers. Yes, there was a letting go a couple years ago when we scattered their ashes in the Merrimac River at Salisbury Beach Reservation, but I still held onto her. There has been the getting rid of possessions; a little each year, but I still held on to her. This year was a big letting go when I sold the house where she and I last lived together; a place where my heart wrenched every time I looked out the window at the flower garden I’d made for her.

This new home is another phase of the letting go process. I’ve spent the past few months getting rid of excess possessions. But mum and I ourselves have to move on and how can I do so if I am not willing to let her go? I will always honor my mother and will always love her and miss her forever. I will keep her picture nearby, but I no longer need to let the grief of her loss cripple me. I have to let her go. She needs to move on, too. 

I’m still processing this. Yesterday, another Christmas of letting her go. And yet, there is more of a release and understanding. I’ve run out of words to explain this. I’m sure I’ll come up with more the next few days.

I tried to write a poem:

Holding on to Her

Her consciousness slipped away

I clung to her hand

patted her arm 

wept, and held onto her 

Next morning phone call

she was gone

peacefully, the voice said

broken, I held onto her

Time passed

I got rid of her possessions 

I did not need

in memories, I held on to her 

A couple years went by

she asked to go home

ashes spread

I still held on to her

The house we shared sold

I moved away from sights

that brought tearful memories

struggling, I still held onto her

Downsizing more

possessions all mine

another Christmas arrived

I fought to hold onto her

A difference sparks:

she is not here

I cling, I cry

and desperately hold on

A subtle time-space shift 

a moment of release

she will always be part of me

but I no longer have to hold on

She is my mother

I will always love her

and I will miss her forever 

I set her free

I love you, Mum.

    ---Sasha Wolfe 2015

I’m not totally happy with this poem…

I AM Somebody Even When I’m Alone

This morning I was journaling about being alone on Christmas Day to play my mother’s favorite game. I set up three sets as if she, my aunt and her twin Margaret, and I are playing and I take turns playing for the three of us. This is my way of honoring them; especially my mother, and I’ve done this for the past years since her passing on Christmas Day 2011.

Yet, even though I look forward to doing this, there is still part of me that feels lonely about spending Christmas alone. I insist on doing it this way and I am stubborn about it! On this, I am not willing to give in. 

So, while writing about this in my journal, I also got into how Ma always seemed to need people around her to make her happy. Did this mean she was an unhappy person on the inside, that she needed others’ attention and company to make her feel worthwhile? Is this why I am so adamant about my solitude?

How unhappy was my mother? Was she? I know Don and I were her life, along with her twin and brother. And of course, this wasn’t anything she would ever discuss… these types of things were secrets, not to be talked about. (Again, is this one of the reasons why I spend so much time researching emotions and the whys behind them?) 

Did my mother only define herself by who was around her? Did she need us to make her feel like she was somebody? Did she feel useless when she was alone? Maybe this is why I feel the need to define myself and acknowledge that I am OK alone as well as when I am with others.

I may be sad and in tears while writing about this, but I also find it very interesting. Is there a part of me deep down that knows my mother was in those places of sadness when she was alone? Of course, as a child, I wouldn’t know that, but now… is that why it is so important to me to play “her” game and insist on my solitude? There is that part of me that feels I need to prove to others that I am OK being alone, that I need solitude – and I do – but it must be balanced with the company of family and good friends.

So, once more I get a bit of understanding, a little snigget of wisdom, in this journey of humanness. 

There’s something about the love of one’s mother… I miss her so much!

A New Christmas Season

The past three Christmas seasons have been very emotional as everything about the Bradford house reminded me of my mother. Yes, I miss her every day and some days I still cry. I have her picture placed so she is always with me. I miss her so much!

But moving to the new home has lessened some of the pain, the sad memories. I will still spend Christmas alone with her, playing her favorite game. I am actually looking forward to it. However, this new home has a different feel… or maybe I just feel more ready to continue moving on. 

Years ago I went a bit overboard with decorating. That became less so in later years, then after her passing, hardly anything as grief was too encompassing during the season (she had passed away on Christmas Day). In having to downsize to move here, I got rid of all of the decorations that had been saved throughout the years. Some went before I left Bradford, then another two full boxes after moving here. 

I did keep a wreath, my little, foot-tall, lighted, purple tree, and a couple of purple and pink ornaments. I realize I got rid of some of the items I meant to save as some of what I kept actually had prices on them from the estate sale.

Now that I have neighbors and can see nightly Christmas lights, I am feeling more inspired again. My little lighted tree isn’t enough and the blue balls hanging on the old wreath do not go with the red-trimmed house. 

I don’t know if I want to purchase new decorations after throwing away and giving away so much. However, I feel the need for color, for brightness, for happiness. I need to bring in happy.

I can’t feel guilty about what I discarded because what worked in other homes would not work here, so perhaps I do need to go new. And I don’t need a lot… never again too much.

It seems that not only a physical move has made a big change in my life, but I am moving in other ways, too, as even how I look at my art is evolving. It happens. So maybe if I run out today to pay my taxes, I can reward myself by stopping to purchase something Christmasy to further brighten my new home. What do you think?

Decorating for the Holidays

It’s the day after Thanksgiving and a time when many start putting up Christmas decorations. Years ago, I waited until the first of December, but I have to admit, it is nice to have pretty lights shining when the days darken early. The few times I am out after dark, those lights bring joy during the cold, dark winter.

Christmas changed throughout the years once the kids grew up and moved out. I used to go all out decorating, but when people stopped visiting, I lost interest. It didn’t seem worth the effort for Mum and me and by that time, she no longer cared either. Then her passing away on a Christmas Day totally destroyed any joy I had around the holiday. (Tears are falling even in the writing of these few lines. For me, my mother WAS Christmas! Four years later and the thought of Christmas without my mother is still unbearable.)

But I am healing. Last year I got back into sending cards. Christmas cards are time consuming because it is important to me to handwrite a personal message in almost every one and the bonus was that these were Christmas cards that I made from photographs I had taken. This is my gift, my giving.

The year 2015 brought more major life-change with the big move and downsize. Boxes of Christmas ornaments, fake trees, and decorations went in the dumpster or were put curbside, free for the taking. And there were boxes! At one time, I had almost an entire corner of the basement in Bradford full of Christmas supplies; some still in individual boxes, only used once. All are gone now except for a dozen small pieces.

And so, I sit in this new home, this home where I did not live with Ma (except I have her picture placed so she is looking at me most of the day). Yesterday, I pulled out the decorations that are left and last night I plugged in the little lighted purple Christmas tree and today I hung a wreath on the front door.

The few decorations I saved are two stuffed Christmas unicorns, three ceramic rocking horses (I’ve always loved horses), and a few purple and pink ornaments. Did I get rid of too much? I’ll have to see how December proceeds and how I feel.

My emotions, at the moment, are all over the place. Part of me wants a new beginning. Part of me still feels empty and lost. I think I need to find a new meaning for Christmas… new for me because the Christmases of the past are no longer, nor can they be. And for this year, I still choose to be alone.

Letting Go of That Which Once Meant a Lot

Movement out the window catches my attention. The brook runs high and fast from the earlier rain. The water’s fierceness draws me, for a brief moment, from the chaos swirling inside me. My mind is in turmoil.

My mother looks down on me from the perch where I keep her photo. Would she approve? Perhaps not for herself had she still been alive; she loved to hold onto stuff. But I have to believe that she would understand I have to do this. She would definitely like to see me get rid of music she didn’t like or approve of. Yeah, she would understand. She would support me. She smiles at me from her photo.

Today I went through my couple hundred CDs and half… or almost half went into a box to go out to the curb. I don’t know why I hang onto some of this. I can’t even really say it’s for the memories. Maybe the real reason is because it is MINE; my stuff, stuff that once meant a lot to me.

The key here is: once meant a lot. So, just because it meant a lot at one time, does that mean I have to keep it forever? For what purpose do I even care anymore? Many things have been stored in boxes for over 10 years. All it does is take up space – of which I have precious little now. What’s the problem in letting it go?

Letting Go of Stuff

The past is stacked

into a box

with care

soon to be carried

to the curb

free for the taking

Do it!

Don’t think!

Don’t remember!

Don’t feel!

I wrap my heart

in numbness

lest it starts to break

lest I refuse to let go

The past is 

the past 

and not needed

today or tomorrow

I hold myself tight

lock down feelings

so I won’t miss

what was once dear

I have to do this

Too late

my throat closes

my eyes leak

already I feel the loss.

---SW 09/2015

The Words Come

Poems come to me when I’m out and about. I always carry a notebook and pens, as I’ve said often. I write when I’m walking. Words flow when I’m driving, but I won’t stop then and usually I forget by the time I reach my destination. I tried doing the recorder while driving. It doesn’t work for me.

This is how my philosophy about the muse came about. When She (the words) come, I have to pay attention in that instant. If I don’t, She goes away. She demands immediate attention. When She gives attention to you, you’d better take the time to listen to her. Thankfully She doesn’t hold a grudge and will come back another time.

The notebook comes out when I’m in a restaurant waiting for a meal. Different atmospheres will sometimes evoke different feelings. Of course the current state of mind plays a role in what I write, too. Whatever comes out, I’m always amazed and pleased.

I knew a woman once who used to write these amazing, funny poems about food. My food poems tend to be how I try to use food to make me feel better when I’m down… and how it doesn’t work, ha ha. As much as I love certain foods and food can certainly be cheerful, it doesn’t help solve problems.

I wrote this poem in April of 2009 at my favorite restaurant, the Flying Goose Pub in New London. (I always like the words in the first two lines and have used them before and since). By this time, my mother’s health was really going downhill and it was hard to be away from her and I never knew what I’d find coming home. Would she be okay? Would she be miserable and awful to me because I’d been gone so long? (I’d usually try to bring her home something to eat to appease her.)

Don’t get me wrong. I loved her so very much! But it was hard. She’d try to be understanding when I went off. Sometimes when I got home, she’d be excited to hear about my adventures. Other times she’d be very angry and upset with me because I’d left her alone. So, I never knew which mom I’d come home to. I understood, too. It was hard for her.

Emotions Unreleased

My heart bleeds tears

my eyes will not shed

the knot in my gut 

will not allow release

It’s 1 p.m.

and I wonder 

if eating anything

will help

Driving for two hours

did not erase

the sadness

in my soul

The solitude

did not bring the comfort

usually found

while out and about

Maybe the weather

affects my mood

Maybe if it was warm and sunny

my mood would be also.

---SW

------

Friendships can ebb and flow. Sometimes words can sever a relationship. Sometimes boundaries are crossed. Sometimes ties need to be severed. It doesn’t have to be forever, though at the time, emotions are strong and the ego screams, “Never again!”

After some time, these words came to me. I don’t normally include little snide comments that my conscious mind can throw in, but in this case, I kept the comment.

Below are two poems written about broken friendship. Words spoken can easily be misconstrued or the hurt can cause such a spiraling down that it can take a long time to recover from. 

Friendship Betrayed

I thought by now

my heart would have healed

I thought by now

words would have lessened

the pain

But still I fear

What trust I had

has long gone

When will it return?

will I ever get it back?

(Maybe not where you’re concerned)

(originally written 04/23/09; edited and titled 09/26/15 – SW)

Did You Know

The chill in the air

matches that in my heart

Did you know your words

would cut my very soul?

Did you know I’d retreat

into a dark, damp abyss?

Did you know I would give up

everything I was building for myself?

You did not call

nor did I call you

Neither willing

to apologize

neither willing

to acknowledge wrong

I cannot face the distance

in your voice

nor the accusation

in your eyes

My loneliness 

eats at my joy

I will never

be the same

For now I will be alone

you cannot accept me

as I am

and I can’t be anything else

Did you know your words

caused me to change my entire life direction?

(originally written 04/23/09; edited 09/26/15 – SW) 

I’ve not talked much about this happening. I’ve not said what really happened to me or how I totally turned from a path I worked towards for many years. But I turned my back on all the training and the practices and focused on being only an artist and writer. I’ve never told anyone how it affected me; never said how I’m still affected.

I forgive other and self. Five years later I am happy to say the friendship rekindled. There are still scars. Someday I may talk about it fully. Not to place blame or find fault for there are at least two sides to every story. I played a part and I’m not blameless.

I would have been a great soul healer. It’s still in me. But the other path was chosen and I don’t have regrets. I love being an artist and writer!

A Walk in the Past

Today in looking through that old notebook to record poems written there onto the computer, I reach the year 2007 and 2008. Here are writings of doctors’ appointments and long waits in waiting rooms. Here is some of the anguish as we dealt with my mother’s declining health (mental and physical) and my own declining mental well-being. I could not be the daughter she wanted me to be and that cut a hole in my heart.

Feeling Lost

Asking questions

I cannot answer

searching for truths

only she can find

I soothe the energies

reach invisible arms

of comfort

of listening

of understanding

I know the pain

I once walked

these very shores

crying my heart out

to the wind.

--SW

Nightmare

Tunnels and rock

square, hard, and dusty

the narrowing chokes

breath and mind

saps all strength

Nothing to feel

but fear and terror

filling my entire soul

I can’t go on

What was this

that happened

the other night?

What was this fear 

that had me trapped

in my own mind?

I fought my way

out of the dream

missing the message.

--SW

And, of course, there are words of past relationships:

But

I thought I was

but I was wrong

I thought he was

but he wasn’t

Was I wrong to trust?

I wonder

but I cannot be

anything else

but what I am. 

--SW

Betrayal

Words cut deep

a cold jagged knife

shreading my soul, 

leaving me questioning

my very being

Hurtful words ripped

through my heart

creating a bleeding gaping hole

filled with tears

my eyes cannot shed

I have become

an empty wasteland

in a body lost of joy

sorrow grows like mold

its seeping ugliness

spreads through my mind 

screaming obscenities

to the wind

What did I do wrong?

My cries echo

through the barren canyons

of my mind

until my tongue lies still

and eyes leak the pain

I cannot hide

For now

I am dead

there’s no hiding

from the grief

of shattered friendship

(From two poems originally written 09/12/08; edited 09/22/15 – SW)

Healing

To heal

I must let

time and nature

melt the pain

My soul

I must sink 

into the earth

where the womb

of the Great Mother

will bring me

back to life.

--SW 09/12/08

Monday Morning Blues Blog

April 7 and the bird feeders are out. I only put them out when I am sitting here and can keep an eye on them. Just a week or so ago, I thought it would be May before all the snow melted, but a surprisingly amount has melted within a week. The majority of the field is now bare and half the back yard. The front yard is still buried because tall spruce trees block the morning sun.

It now really feels like spring and I remember my first spring here in Bradford in 2007. I’d never been a gardener, but when Ma and I bought this house with its little greenhouse on the side, I thought I’d start. I went out and bought wagons and gardening tools and by March of that year when the snow melted, I was outside in the gardens pulling away the past years of neglect and the winter debris. There were 10 sections of fence along what we called the Long Garden and as I had 10 grandchildren, I named each section after a grandchild.

As more snow melted, I cleaned more of the area until it the groundcover vinca was clear of old leaves and twigs. New shoots of… lilies, probably, as I wasn’t sure what else was in the garden. What a time of discovery waiting to see what would come up and blossom. I checked the guidebooks often and began making charts and drawings of each section and noting what plants grew there.

May came and Ma and I visited nurseries and bought flowering plants. She loved annuals and I preferred perennials. I lined the front walkway with pansies, gerbera daisies, and marigolds. I planted a variety of azaleas. The section around the deck outside Ma’s room and around a nearby tree, I made into gardens for her. Later in the year, I dug up excess day lilies and made other gardens around the property and for that year, Ma would walk around the yard and check on my progress. She, who once had fabulous flower gardens in the yard no longer wanted to do the work. However, she still always asked for lawn ornaments for birthdays and Christmas.

The next year, she sat on the deck or watched from the window while I worked. I’d put the rows of little feeders and lawn ornaments along the walkways and in areas where she still could see them. Her interest waned and I was finding I did not like gardening so much. I love flowers and plants and I love the excitement of spring when new shoots first start showing, but once it starts getting buggy and hot, I don’t like being outside. Plus, the type of work I do (art and writing) mostly keeps me inside.

Ma declined and my interest in doing any gardening dropped further. After her passing on Christmas Day 2011, I don’t even like going out in the yard any more. I go out long enough to put up a couple of bird feeders. I look around and see the fancy feeders and other lawn things she loved and that I never took care of and my eyes fill with tears. It breaks my heart to be out there because I look around seeing the things we bought together. I keep thinking that I will fix the things that are deteriorated or broken. They could still be useful. Yes, I feel guilty, but I just can’t…

And so, it is coming up to the anniversary of her birth and we are planning a memorial service. We will spread her ashes at her most favorite place, a place of her childhood, one she spoke of often. A final goodbye and I will return to this house that no longer holds joy for me.

I have to get away from this house! It’s time for me to move on, too.

The Ultimate Letting Go

Yesterday, as I was driving to drop off pictures, it hit me. Last year, I had visited my brother and his wife while they were camping at a place that had been the childhood home of my mother’s family. Should we have scattered Ma's and Margaret's ashes? I started to cry thinking about it and tears are flowing now as I write this. That would really be finally letting them go, letting my mother go. Can I do that?

Both my mother and her twin talked often of Butler’s Toothpick, a landmark on the river where they grew up. They had fond memories and as they got old, they’d often talk about their childhood saying they’d like to see the area one last time before they died. It never happened. I never found the time to take them. Margaret passed in 2010 and my mother on Christmas Day 2011.

They would be so happy to have that childhood area be their final resting place. I know they'd be pleased that we would do that for them?  But can I? Can I let her go?

I do have guilt because we never had a memorial service for my mother. My aunt had had her wish of a military service although I kept some of her ashes in a little urn in my mother’s room because she also wanted to be with her twin. My mother never wanted a wake or anything. I couldn't put one together although my son had planned a speech. Emotionally, I couldn't do it and I don't think my brother could have. I had told my sons we would do something in warmer weather, but of course, I never did. I couldn't. I couldn’t and not fall totally apart. So, she, too, is in a box on special shelf I set up.

Am I stupid for hanging on to them? Am I being selfish keeping them here? This place meant nothing to them whereas their hearts were in Salisbury where they grew up. My original plans had me planting them in the flower garden when I get a new “forever home,” but that's stupid, too, because that wouldn't be THEIR home. And then when something happens to me, then what? They would be stuck in some place that meant nothing to them. It's selfish of me to want that. I have memories and pictures. I don't need to keep their ashes and at this moment, it feels wrong to do so.

And what about my phenomenal cat Freyja, whom I lost this past summer? She was part of the lives of the three of us and she is also in a box on that special shelf unit in the back room. I think she is with them in spirit, so can I let her go physically with them?

So now, I am wondering if we should do this for them. Should we make their final resting place one which gave them wonderful memories? It would be most difficult for me, but I think it's selfish of me to be hanging onto them like this. I need to let them go.

BUT, this would be the ultimate of letting her go!

Sometimes doing the right thing hurts really bad. My heart bleeds…