Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts

Mommy Memory

What I learned from my mother, though she has passed, continues in daily, silent epiphanies. I think of her often. Sometimes it's regret for not being a better daughter to her, for not being a better friend to her, for being a miss-know-it-all and not really listening to everything that she wanted to teach  me. I remember as a teenager she wanted to teach me how to crochet and knit. Being the tomboy that I was, I was just NOT interested in knitting. Here I am knocking on 40 years of age and desperately cruising youtube crochet tutorials so that I can finish a beautiful quilt she started. She was such a talented lady. Why did I brush it off when she was here on this planet? I'm sorry mom.


The truth is that I try not to live in the regret of all the things I could have done to honor my mother while she was here in the flesh. I can't say that I feel guilty nor do I feel excessive regret for not cherishing  her more. And that sounds very arrogant and ungrateful but I really had to make peace with my weaknesses in my relationship with her. The day after she died, I went to Pounder's Beach. I witnessed the most glorious sunrise unlike anything I had ever experienced before or since. While there I put my feelings out into the universe. I forgave myself for not being everything I should have been. And I knew then as I know now that there was no need for apologies or forgiveness - only love and compassion.


Since that day I love differently. I look at people differently. I look at situations differently. I stand in the truth of unconditional love and the purity of my thoughts. I don't gauge situations based on rules or on doctrine published somewhere. I listen to my heart. I listen to my gut. I listen to that still, small voice that beckons me to love people on purpose…. to live ON PURPOSE.

'Awapuhi Memory

My mother would have been 65 this year. As the years move on past the day she departed, I long to hear her voices and I wish so hard that I had taken the time to talk to her more about her childhood. I wish I made it a point for us to travel to Samoa together when she was healthy. I know she would not want me to live with regrets so I don't. When I see her again we will speak as if we had never known any time or distance.

I went to her grave site to place some artificial flowers there. My father had already placed fresh flowers from Mother's Day and Memorial Day and we have artificial purple hydrangeas there. Purple was her favorite color. In the last years of her life, my mother made me promise that her funeral would have lots of flowers. I carried that request over. My only wish is that I had bought her flowers while she was alive.

The morning of the day she passed away, my mother woke up just before I left for work. Usually, when I would leave for work, I would look in on her to let her know my schedule for the day. She was usually still asleep and would not rise until after 9am. That morning, she was rushing to get outside and into the yard while I was getting ready for work. I was running late that morning and my ride was waiting on me in the driveway. As I was getting into her van, my mother came running to me from the side of the house. Running, as in wobbling. My mother had broken her leg several years ago and the screws in her knee made it difficult for her to get around. In her hands were stalks of white 'awapuhi ginger that she had cut from her flower patch. The smell of the 'awapuhi will always remind me of her.

She says, "Babe, here," as she attempts to hand me the stalks of ginger.

"Get a vase from the wash room and put this in your office."

In my rush to get to work and my impatience with the disruption of doing that, I tell her that I'm running late and I have to get to work. "Tomorrow," I say. "I'll take it tomorrow."

I will never forget that interaction. As I write this, I tear up thinking about moments like these.

My mother grew up in Samoa. She did not have indoor plumbing until she was well into her teen years and ready to leave home. They preferred cooking in the umu (google "umu samoa") or over an open fire. I think it is that upbringing that made her hold on to 'stuff' even if we had no immediate use for the 'stuff'. I always scolded her about hoarding things (sorry Mom for being so cheeky). Take these urns, for instance, in the pictures; these urns sat around the house for years. She had purchased them a long time ago to make floral arrangements for my great-grandmother's grave and my grand-aunt and my great-grandfather's and another aunt's grave. I hassled her constantly about getting rid of them because they were taking up space under the bathroom counter. She fussed at me for being so wasteful. I fussed back! She never did get around to using them and I'm glad because now they adorn her grave.






Book Review: Wild by Cheryl Strayed

I just completed the book Wild (Oprah's Book Club 2.0 Digital Edition) by Cheryl Strayed. It's about a girl who starts on an 1100 mile hike across California and Oregon and through all the rough terrain in between.
...at last I found myself, bootless, in the summer of 1995, not so much loose in the world as bound to it. It was a world I'd never been to and yet had known was there all along, one I'd staggered to in sorrow and confusion and fear and hope. A world I thought would both make me into the woman I knew I could become and turn me back into the girl I'd once been. 
At the end of her journey, Cheryl evolves into a woman with the skills to take on the rest of her life. It is a beautiful memoir. Beautiful indeed. I believe this is the type of book I will write. I'm excited by the idea of turning my memories and thoughts into a published memoir. I am sure that my struggles and my epiphanies will be of use to many a lonely reader.

Up until late last night, I was at about 90% done with the book. I just could not keep my eyes open to finish off the final 10% of the book. So this morning I woke up super early to enjoy and relish the final pages of this wonderful memoir.

Cheryl's journey on the Pacific Crest Trail begins after having experienced the loss of her mother to cancer, the fracture of her family after her mother's untimely passing, and the demise of her marriage because of her own infidelities. If there were any a time for Cheryl to do some soul searching, it would seem that those three things I mentioned were ample material for her to embark on a path of enlightenment. Her path led her down (or up) a physically grueling hike across some of the most beautiful scenery in the West. I say "beautiful" because as I read the book, I googled all the images associated with the places she mentioned. The images ignites my sense of wonderment in relation to all the natural wonders on this beautiful planet.

I can certainly relate to two of the most difficult things that Cheryl endured. First is the demise of her marriage. I have blogged about my first marriage on many occasions. Second is the loss of her mother. Though Cheryl had a very nice relationship with her mother. My relationship to mine was littered with my selfish, unapologetic brashness of immaturity because of her old-school parenting. I wish I could take back so many years of me keeping my mother at a distance. But I know that she understands my frailties and can see everything from a much more grand vantage point.
One of the worst things about losing my mother at the age I did was how very much there was to regret ...The thought of my youthful lack of humility made me nauseous now. I had been an arrogant asshole and, in the midst of that, my mother died. Yes, I'd been a loving daughter and yes, I'd been there for her when it mattered, but I could have been better. I could have been what I'd begged her to say I was: the best daughter in the world.

I wonder if Cheryl's words are having an effect on me.
Alone had always felt like an actual place to me, as if it weren't a state of being, but rather a room where I could retreat to be who I really was. The radical aloneness of the PCT had altered that sense. Alone wasn't a room anymore, but the whole wide world, and now I was alone in that world, occupying it in a way I never had before.
I often feel like ALONE is a place I want to be. I want to be ALONE to follow my own paths and dreams and to bring my life into a peaceful alignment. I want to become the person I must authentically and genuinely be. As women, some of us take on the heavy burden of caring for everyone except ourselves. I no longer want to be that woman. But how does one UNTANGLE from all the burdens that have been heaped upon our shoulders? Cheryl quotes her mother:
"I never got to be in the driver's seat of my own life," she'd wept to me once, in the days after she learned she was going to die. "I always did what someone else wanted me to do. I've always been someone's daughter or mother or wife. I've never just been me. 
So who am I? I still don't know. I want to make choices independent of my "role" as wife or daughter or sister or friend. I want to make choices that fit who I am, authentically.

Needless to say, Cheryl Strayed truly has a gem on her hands. I'm thankful Oprah resurrected her Book Club. I look forward to our next read.

Happy Birthday Mom

If my mother were still alive, she would have been 64 today but she only lived to be 63.

If my mother were still alive, I would have asked her to recount every single year of her life. "What was it like to grow up in Samoa?"
"Mom, tell me what it was like to lose your father at a young age. I can't imagine having lost mine."
"Who were your friends and what did you do for fun?"
"Mom, tell me what it was like to wash clothes in the stream or ride horse back along the beach."
"Mom, tell me what it was like to dig for clams for dinner and walk several miles to the plantation."
"What was it like, Mom, to use an outhouse."
"Tell me Mom, what was it like to be you?"

If my mother were still alive, I would have spent this entire past year learning how to crochet. She had been trying to teach me it all of my life.
"Sorry Mom!"

If my mother were still alive, I would have been so proud to show her my gardening techniques and my recycling techniques... all the things that she was so famous for.

If my mother were still alive, I would have taken her to the graveyard to clean Great-Gramma's grave and Aunty Anapogi's grave. She always wanted to go but I was always too busy doing something else. I find myself at the graveyard often... wishing I could hear her voice just one more time.

If my mother were still alive, I would hug her every day. I would tell her how much I love her and how grateful I am that she's my mother.

If my mother were still alive...

If only my mother were still alive...


Thinking Ever Thinking

So much of my time is spent contemplating the world and my existence in it. What is my great contribution to the world and the people around me? I remember someone saying, in an address to young people, that we should attempt to write our own eulogy so as to know how to pattern our lives.

I think of my mother whom I lost in June of 2011. I can only remember all the good things about her. I bless the day she birthed me because in that day she wished God's choicest blessings upon me. I think of her now in heavenly splendor. Perfect. Having truly given all that she could to ensure that I were a benefit to the world.... that I were a bright light in the darkness.

What will be said of me in death?

Am I, figuratively speaking, a light in the darkness of night?

I raise these questions now as I am moving ever closer to the ending of my studies toward my Bachelors of Arts degree in Philosophy. I am in the 400 level courses and find myself contemplating what I have learned in terms of philosophy. Probably what I love most is that I have studied all types of thought processes. Each discussion seeks to answer one supreme question: WHO.AM.I?

WHO ARE YOU?

i am

i am a

i am a wife

a daughter
a sister
an aunt
a cousin
a good friend

i am you.
i am me.
i am the universe.

* * * * * * * * * *


Photo Credit

Thoughts of Her

The thought of my mother pops into my head on many occasions. It will be in random moments when her memory is least expected.

In a sea of Red at a Kahuku High School football game

While playing sudoku on my phone

Looking at a Facebook picture that I uploaded several weeks ago that my father commented on saying, "No one mourns her loss more than me."

Looking at an unkempt yard

Looking at an immaculate kitchen or a spotless living room

I miss her.

I miss her everyday and it seems like I miss her more as time passes.

Things that she's taught me seems to make complete sense now. While she was here, I seemed to fight against her wisdom and logic.

She lives on in me in a way that I thought I would never appreciate. All her countless hours of tireless, patient teaching has affected me so profoundly.

These past few days, I've been fighting a cold. When I was at my worse, I instantly thought of the many times my mother bathed and nurtured me as a child. No doubt, I took her for granted while she was here on the earth. For that, I regret every moment I spent fighting against her wisdom.

And yet, it is in our disagreements that I have come to continually discover "ME".

My mother is one of my greatest teachers and I look forward to reuniting with her.... I know when I do see her again, it will be like no time at all had passed.

Please grant me the endurance to get through this lifetime relatively quickly and full of lasting memories as I journey toward my next lifetime... ever searching to meet with HER again.



Missing Her So Much

I miss my momz...

...but I just realized how hard this must be for my father. As I try to sort out my own feelings, I haven't been able to see past my own nose. Today, I sat with my father and tried to express to him how hard it has been for me to process the loss of my mother combined with the distraction of two cousins that never left since their arrival prior to my mother's funeral.

He said one sentence that just broke my heart: "I wish I could be wherever she is."

I wish I could be with her too....

I can't wait to see her again.

I can't believe how hard this has been.





I Miss You Mom

I'm really missing my mom right now. She has been on my mind all day. I wish she were here because she always knows just the right thing to say or do.

We didn't have enough time.

I miss her so much!


Unfolding My Feelings

Everything feels so unreal lately. My mother's passing has made things different. I've been trying to get used to a new reality and so has my father and my brothers, my husband and everyone around us. Life hasn't been overly depressing. I'm grateful that everyone around me is coping so well. This makes the process of grieving and mourning one of celebration rather than sadness. I know that is what my mother would want.

My mother has had so many complications with her health and wellness. Her death allows her to move beyond this life and dimension and it's a good thing for her. She is free from the body that kept her so trapped.

Niece #3 is coping well. She's all of 4 years old and is just the most precious 4-year old on the planet. Sis-in-law told her that "mama" went to heaven.

NIECE #3: She went to heaven already? But I didn't get to say bye.

As soon as she said that, she started singing some random song while my brother and sis-in-law were fighting back bittersweet tears. Bitter because mom is gone to heaven but sweet because NIECE #3 put it in the right context. What we're really grieving is that there was no goodbye and we will miss her presence in our life.

My Bishop, in his visits with our family, said, "Your mom is not gone. She is here, in you."

When people used to say that I am just liker her I thought it was such a terrible thing. I did not want to be like my mom. She was too forward, too honest, too controlling. At the same time though, she had the biggest heart. She took in everyone's children. She helped anyone that needed help. She volunteered to help with anything and everything even with her failing health. She was the definition of charity. As I review my life with my mother, I am so grateful to have had her in my life and to even be compared to her in some small way. And all the things that I did not like about her are actually the qualities I appreciate the most in other people. Isn't that funny? I prefer brute honesty over fake-ness and my mother was always good for a dose of straight-up HONESTY. :-D Makes me smile just thinking of all the many times she's checked me and anybody else that needed to be checked!

The coming months may find me blogging often about her as a way of unfolding my feelings. It makes me feel closer to her.