Change comes by the dozen. When my life flipped end-over-end this fall with a change of career, an addition to the household (the mother-in-law) and a drastic turn in my own mom's health, I fell out of my body, or at least that is what if felt like. While driving my car, cooking or even talking to my husband, I was a witness floating some distance from the action.
I returned this week from an extended visit to my mother, knowing that it could well be the last time I see her alive.
While in San Diego at my sister's house, I sat crying on the couch one night after putting mom to bed. Nancy tried to help me transcend despair by explaining a strategy for shifting my attitude, but I wasn't getting it. She resorted to sharing a letter received from a friend that was a response to one Nancy had written while in a crisis. Instead of a return letter addressing the specifics of Nancy's rant, Nina wrote her a love letter.
It was the most beautiful and effective reaction to what for Nancy was a dire situation. Nina simply listed everything she adores about my sister by citing examples of her generosity and kindness.
Today is my mom's 81st birthday. Before leaving San Diego I sat down and wrote a love letter to my mom that goes something like this:
Dear Mom, there is so much I love about you. I love that you never made us wear shoes as kids, that dessert was a part of every dinner and how on my birthday I'd wake to the crinkle of wrapped presents at the foot of my bed. I love you for my strongest memory of bedtime being how you wished me "Pleasant dreams" before closing my bedroom door. I love how you asked about my dreams on our drives to school and how you listened as I leaned across the bench seat of our station wagon to talk in your ear. I love that in your purse I could always find a crumpled tissue blotted with a dozen imprints of your lips; gum, cough drops, Band-aides and a worn out nail file. I love that you never left the house without spraying three squirts of perfume around your neck or a Fresca tucked into your purse. I love that when I call, you want to talk, and when we hang up, you try to end with a positive. Today it was, "Don't forget to breathe in and breathe out, Pam." I love that when I read to you aloud you correct my mispronunciations. I love how fearless you are, which made you reckless, but also inspired admiration for your toughness. I love how you fully embraced your motto, "God is my co-pilot."
Happy birthday Mom.
Thank you Nancy and Nina, for giving me a formula for stepping away from fear and toward love.