Lately, I have noticed that I am hoarding. A picture. A locket. An item of clothing once mine, then hers, and back to mine. Pieces of Mom to have close. To be present and simultaneously live in the past.
She stuffs things in her pockets. We constantly laugh as we pull out pens, elastics, tissues, scraps of paper, rosaries, and other items. It’s a bit like Mary Poppins’ purse…you can’t believe all of what can fit in there!
But tomorrow we start a new step of this journey. It’s a bit more of the letting go and so of course I want to hold on tight. I want to hold on and not let go. Of time. Of the past. Of my Mom and who she is to me. And so we breathe through it. Sit with the urges to clench the present and avoid change. And sit with those moments of wishing we were three steps already ahead. Settled. Secured. Safe.
I don’t have any easy answers. But I know this process. I know it’s a flow. A struggle. A birthing of new life, even when it seems so contradictory.
For this beautiful poem by Ellen aligns with this idea: when it’s over, we may want it all back.