In the past couple of months my family has been faced with the inevitable change of relocating my widowed mother to a place that would not strain her capacity to live the remainder of her life with quality and ease.
As the progression from talk to reality, -from cleaning to packing her belongings evolved, I was faced with emotions that had been eluding me for a while. In essence, it was almost like I was a princess from a fairy tale awakening from a hazy elusive death (of emotions-in order to gird my armor and remain strong for those around me). The reality is that I was woken up by the simple smell of moth balls, the taste of my mom's kimchee, the replaying of songs while I was listening and delving into my itunes library , the witnessing of the deconstruction of my mother's belonging and the unveiling of photos as I was cleaning out a drawer in her house.
As a yogi I tried to follow the rule of non-attachment and in this house cleaning, it was easy to let go of many things, -try 3 dumpsters plus of stuff. But, as the house became more empty, each part thrown away began to represent the loss of cells connected in layers and patterns that made the muscles and bones of the life and lives that were lived there, cohesive -whole. I never in the past couple of months felt a sense of loss in terms of the house, but seeing walls, like bleached buffalo bones, outlining the framework where many a memory had been lain, made me feel the ache that I get in my heart when remembering a touch, smell or feeling. As I was cleaning out my mom's crazy filing drawer filled with important papers, a surprising amount of gum, along with paperclips and old cards and wrappers from a decade ago, I came across photographs from life moments past. Still-frames of weddings, a childhood birthday, the celebration of two grandchildren, -I started to feel the mist forming over my corneas and the tightness in my throat that is starting to rise even as I type this post; and for the first time since the inception of the move, I began to cry.
It wasn't the wracking, inconsolable crying and hiccuping of a child who couldn't catch her breath, it was the kind of crying where everything seems to melt slowly, -from the steady stream of tears coursing down my cheeks to the trickle of the ice around my heart melting into a pool of breathtaking sadness-beauty and beast conjoined. -A Meryl Streep moment from The Bridges of Madison County.
There were many photos captured of Dorothy Hamill-esque bowl cuts and snippets of gaunt, awkward faces set with somber eyes from our abused childhoods but what stood out more profoundly were the moments of sheer joy, like that of my sister running at top 5 or 6 year old speed in the unbridled nature of a puppy finding the springs in its legs. Breath-taking joy in tear-dropped eyes and moon face. The other photo was that of my father, taken in the months before his passing, holding my newly born niece, who I hold dear to my heart, in his arms. Despite his withered countenance from struggling with Cancer, he had a look of contentment that I had seen very few times and it was captured as he looked upon this very small looking bundle of newness that looked up at him with a pensive furrow in her brow that for-shadowed the thoughtful and sensitive wonder I know today.
The passing of a human, the loss of a relationship and connection, brings and has brought about so many changes in the lives of one family in such a little time. I worry constantly in trusting my own ability to keep all of these memories with me and within me, and yet today I felt assured that no matter how much we change, there is a part that remains the same to remember all the tears and all of the laughter. There is a steadily toiled upon groove, worked in concentric circles around the heart that holds the millions of miles and memories locked within the wrinkle of each of our times here on earth. Chipchadisaeo ( goodbye home), Anyounghasaeo (greetings-and in this case, greetings to the memories).
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