It's been a really hard few months at work for me and between that and trying to get ready for Christmas, I'm very weary. Sunday morning, I woke up so tired (physically and emotionally) I wanted to cry.
This tends to be my busy time of year anyway but this year we are also implementing a (lo-o-o-ng-overdue) new software operating system which is taking a lot of my time and energy. Usually this work rush and intensity is over by now (or at least starting to subside) but now that most of the billing is over, I realize that we may have a long way to go still as we work out the bugs and kinks in the new system. I remain grateful I am part of a good team and especially that I am not at the head of it.
My two oldest, deepest, and hardest anniversaries arrive in December - on December 6, 1977 my parents' divorce was final and a short 8 days later on December 14, the bone cancer in my left hip was diagnosed. My world literally fell apart in one short week. As a trusted and very dear therapist who walked with me, spiritually companioning and mothering me, for 6 years once wisely said to me, "Debbie, it's like your anniversaries are burned in your soul." I knew the truth of her words as soon as she spoke them.
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I still had a few vacation days left so I took one of them on Friday. I wanted to take some intentional time so I could be with myself, love, honor, cry, and remember . . .
That morning, it occurred to me that rather than write-journal which, sadly, is kinda feeling overwhelming right now (and so in some ways it feels like I've lost my voice), I could art-journal. Smiling because I first started dipping my toe in doing this with selfies when I took Liz Lamoreux's "Water Your Soul" class in April and played with it some more as I did a read along of her book,
Inner Excavation, with
Effy Wild this summer. So after quiet stop at a place that feeds me spiritually and a trip to Michaels to get a larger watercolor book (15"x18") , I did just that.
Wanted to share both of my pieces here . . .
The first one honors me and my health (and heart and spiritual) journey. The first picture is a selfie I took a few months ago that I love … it feels like Grace (my fond name for my higher power) is shining down on and blessing me, her daughter. The last picture is me at age 15 (or so), when, clearly the cancer was still heavy on my heart (and in my body). I can tell by the wig on my head, sparser-than-usual eyebrows, and the heavy seriousness of my face. Truly, I was a child thrown into an adult world and the reality was that I didn't have a whole heck of a lot of the gentle support that I so desperately needed during that time. (I believe this is why the anniversaries still burn in my soul and ache for tending) I love the idea of the picture in the middle reminding me that both parts of me can meet in the middle, hold hands, look lovingly at one another, care for one another in a way that I need, and I can be and feel supported (both then and now). The adult-me of today *can* go all the way back, 36 years ago, to the child-me.
And I especially love the tender reminder to wrap myself in Hope (<- my word for 2014) forever.
The second piece honors my Moma and I's journey. She and I were very close and then she divorced my Daddy in a very armored-up, angry way and left me behind. In looking back I think it was the only way she could do what she knew she needed to do in order to survive so I have found some blessed mercy (my word for 2012) for her. Still. That doesn't change the fact that it was still a heart-breaking sever in our relationship and, because I felt so abandoned by her, I cut off contact with her several times in the following decades (I armored up in anger, too). It wasn't what I wanted but being near her in this armored up, angry way was too painful (and hurtful) for me.
I always hoped, wanted, and wished for reconciliation between us and today I have no doubts that she wanted the same. How it all unfolded is a long story but the bottom-line is that we were blessed with the gift of one on her deathbed when she was dying from liver cancer almost 17 years ago.
While I miss her, terribly at times, I know in my heart that all that we could possibly do together, each in our own humanity, before she left this earth was done. Each picture of her and I is a different snapshot in our lives together - a moment of coming together (but not necessarily lasting). The upper left-hand photo is our last one together, taken on Christmas Eve 1996 a couple weeks before she passed on January 6. The tears and deep gratitude, palpable on my face, that we were able to make peace still moves me to tears (especially when I'm feeling especially tender like today). The one of me by myself reminds me to take a moment and bask in the very real gratitude I feel. The candle quietly reminds me of all of the candles I've lit and stood by, holding vigil for this biggest-thing-ever-on-my-heart wish. It came true . . . and, while I still so miss what we could've had more of, I am deeply grateful for what we did have.
Thank you for your kind witness.
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