wake

I went to a wake tonight. My friend's mom passed. She was a sweet lady, an eccentric and funny woman. I met her a few times, but my favorite memory of her was when they invited me to Thanksgiving one of the years I was "orphaned" for the holiday. We ate well, I made some legendary sausage and forbidden rice dish, we laughed, played epic Scrabble games and enjoyed each other.

At the wake this evening, my pal told me the story of her mom's passing. They were home, holding her hand. They made peace and it was serene. It all happened the way an idyllic passing would be. 

I efforted to be there for my friend. My intention was to be there to remember her mom sweetly and relish the photos and flowers. But my mind kept jumping to something else.

I kept thinking of my own mother, abusive, mentally ill, sickly and unkind. I imagined her funeral. I pictured my sister, my father and myself at odds. None of them are speaking to me, and I wondered, "would they even tell me if she died?" Instead of being able to be supportive for my pal, I nestled up to my darkest wish, and would have preferred it was my mom in the box... and my painful existence of abuse and agony would just fucking end. I wished my mom was the one who died instead.

Yup. 


There's something wrong there I know. I cannot tell you how arduous and agonizing it is to grow up with a mentally ill parent incapable of loving anything or anyone. The sickness has permeated into everything in my life. I am convinced I am unlovable and unworthy of the life I can picture but never have. I met the man who should be my soulmate, but our relationship is poisoned by my abandonment issues and constant recording in my head that I am simply.... unlovable. I mean, if my mom can't love me, who will. I cling too tightly to my child, and tell him he's loved to ensure he never feels a shred of what my last 47 years of being resented and hated by a parent could possibly feel like.

I don't want my mom to die out of malice. It's not like that at all. I know it's fucked up, but I love my abusive horrible absent mom. Why? She's my mom. I have spent most of my lifetime seeking love and approval, wanting glimmers of what kids with real moms get. So why do I pray for her to die already? I want closure, and I want this agonizing suffering to end. You see, if she is dead, then that can be the excuse why she has abandoned me. I don't have to want a relationship that will never happen. I don't have to dream of some lightbulb moment she is never going to have. She isn't capable now. My mother will be unable to abuse me if she's gone. She will be out of her depression and her misery. She will hopefully finally be at peace, something she has never experienced for as long as I've been alive. I can stop wondering why I don't have a 'normal' family or parents who love me. I can say, it's because she's dead.

Triggers triggers triggers.

I remember that Thanksgiving at my friend's house. I remember how it felt to sit at a table with her, her sister and her mom who was sweet, and nice and loving towards the girls. I remember thinking how lucky they are to have a mom who is caring, and open to inviting a stranger to the table. I get mom envy quite easily, to be quite honest. I try to remember that I deserve to have come into this world to the loving arms of a good mommy. Often I find myself saying over and over in my head that it's ok, I just got dealt a shitty hand. This woman may have not been the perfect mom or the best mom, but she was a loving mom and that seems like a luxury. It shouldn't be, right? It should be a given, your mom loves you unconditionally.

My mother has never loved me. Hell, she doesn't like me. And as she has said for 47 years... she wished I had never been born.

Tonight I sat in a chair in the funeral home, looking at the casket, the flowers, the people hugging and chatting. I imagined the full life this woman lived, and prayed that my pal knows that even though her home life was far from ideal, at least she had a mom who loved her. One shouldn't have to be grateful their parents love them, but when you are me... it's a fantasy not a reality.

I've come to accept that my mom did the best she could with what she had; she was hindered greatly by depression and mental illness and drug addiction. She still is, if she is in fact still alive. I have forgiven my mom so many times, over and over practiced forgiveness, acceptance and all that crap you do on a cushion, on a couch, in a group, at that retreat, and by her side in the hospital after her big stroke. Despite the acceptance and forgiveness, the scars and wounds of her mistreatment of me linger and loiter. I can handle it most days, but today is one of the days I am giving myself permission to break down and just feel like utter crap about it.

how well do you know a person?

a month ago, a friend of mine from college died.  like so many deaths and other important news, I found out about this unfortunate passing of this contemporary on Facebook.  comeon.. who needs another news source?

in the minutes that followed the initial post announcing the passing of Spencer Cox, the outpouring of sentimental comments began.  certainly, as I always do, I was at the head of the pack to say... how sad and sorry I was.   in a matter of an hour, a memorial service date and location was announced, news unfolded, gossip ensued and articles were crafted in honor of Spencer's life.

today, the memorial service took place.  it felt like there were 1000 people in the room, and the eulogies were funny, heart felt, sentimental and honest.  there were a few lines today at the memorial service, that resonated.  one of Spencer's best friends from high school said in her eulogy, "I had not idea that Spencer was such a big deal." in all honesty, neither had I.

throughout the room were people with whom I shared equal amount of time with at school, designing dramatic sets for plays, building sculptures, analyzing literature and getting high at parties.  we are all friends on Facebook these days, liking each others' pictures, and keeping up with the happenings of our lives.  I was surprised how my life seemed to actually be interesting enough to my fellow former school mates that they remarked on our adventures that I share online.  what could I say back?  I wasn't sure.

here I was, in a room full of people who felt this immense connection to Spencer, but as one of his friends remarked in his eulogy, everyone has a time where they have been disconnected from him.  I hadn't really seen Spencer since college and our friendship of late was really rekindled electronically on Facebook.  this is where so many of my "relationships" flourish.  I related all too easily to the idea of being disconnected from people I love.  I have my long laundry list of friends with whom ties were severed.  sometimes just by life circumstances, and sometimes by some fight or altercation or... I just couldn't deal with them anymore.

I had no idea he was such a big deal.

I had no idea she had kids.  I didn't realize he was living here, she was doing this, he had written that, she had worked here, he was working there, she had lost 100 lbs, he had remarried... I didn't realize they were such a big deal.

all too easily, I let the ties that connect me to others fray and inevitably separate.  how can this possibly be the mark I have on others.  is this my legacy?

there were a number of eulogies at today's service; a former partner of 8 years who sobbed, his Act Up compadres, his younger brother and mother, friends and more friends.  I listened intently, and thanks to these people who were close to him, I discovered what a big deal Spencer Cox truly was.  I had no idea.

as I reflect back on my own life since those youthful years, if my life were to end today... what would my legacy be?  would people get up and speak about me?  have I had a profound mark to leave upon the earth?

I've lived a very full life with adventures and experiences.  lately, I've been depressed and down in the dumps.  well not just lately, like for the past couple of years... feeling useless, unworthy, saddened by my own deterioration. I've lived with an attitude that I've lived my life, there's nothing else except to raise my son and live to nurture him so that he can be the special person he is destined to be.  I've mistaken complacency for a sort of serenity, but that's not what living life is all about.  is it?  no.

watching this man's life unfold into a service in this way presented the usual cliche responses one gets from these kinds of things.  I need to live every day like it's my last kind of yadda.  but I think there was something more in it for me.  I've become so settled in my isolation that I've removed myself from the human connections that give me so much joy.  how well did I know Spencer?  not well at all really.  how well do I know my friends right now?

how well do you know a person?

if today taught me anything, it taught me the value of really knowing someone.  of being a part of their lives beyond the electronic facade that eludes to human contact but doesn't authentically define a friendship the way a phone call, a coffee date or an act of kindness can.  this has been a recurring lesson of the more recent months (and years) of my life.  I've made more of an effort to call people I care about, to lean in and listen but am I doing enough?  no.  I can't hide in my lil cabin forever.  I need to get out there, make those sparks fly between me and others and make my mark.  because one day, as we all do, I am going to die.  when my turn comes, I don't want to regret the idea that I didn't get to really know the people who skim the surface of my life.  I want to dive deep, form those lasting connections and know love in all its forms.

how well do I know the people in my life?  the wake up call for me is to cultivate more quality time for the relationships that make up the life I lead.  if Love is the ultimate answer, it cannot be nurtured without authentic real-time relationships.