Like happiness we search for it. Peace. We cling to the possibility of it, like a child to its mother when feeling the heaviness of fear or the void of her absence. It’s always there…over there, for the reaching, the yearning, the power of it when we imagine its presence. Even when faced with the most insurmountable hatred and war that grabs us by the ankles and shakes us to the core, we hold out with hope that “peace will prevail.” No matter if you believe in God, Krishna, Allah, the Buddha, or no-thing or no-one at all, the human experience still exists. What might call it “reality.” We deal with our world and the chaos we have created. Our fists in rage cursing someone else or something thing that caused this hellish world we live in. My friends, I am sharing this to remind you that WE have created this. You, me, and the conditions that have followed to create such a chaotic world that we no longer recognize our own human roots and those of our natural world. Yet, simple sobering moments can bring us to our knees when we are forced to look inside ourselves to see that peace is all around us when we allow ourselves to greet it with a humbling of our own reality…right.where.we.are. Clinging to it somehow fades into balance. Doubt into knowing. If we are aware.
Over the past four years, I have been faced with arduous and messy emotions of watching multiple close friends and family suffer and die. “They didn’t deserve this,” I have cried out to myself in my own quiet grief. “I don’t deserve this!” I realize that I am not alone in my anger, fear, regrets, and hurt. But, I have faced it alone in my mind in the few quiet moments of the day, but especially at night when I face myself before sleep. How many more must suffer from this pandemic and the tearing pain of war? Why can’t people see that we are all the same? We ALL just want happiness. What does it mean when people say peace comes with a cost? At WHAT cost? I realize that I am not unique or alone in this experience in the past years. I hope my words ahead speak to you in some way to bring the solace or an idea to create your own personal space for peace..
In the last year, I have lost more friends and family to illness than I care to acknowledge. Each life brought meaning to my own. They touched me in ways that even they would be surprised to hear if were they alive. Two aunts, three uncles, four close friends…my father. The thought of them leaving this planet left me with staggering grief. Watching the living grieve so deeply that even the thought of taking their own lives have taunted them. I have watched my LGBTQ+ friends suffer great lengths simply to be who they know they are inside. Why do others concern themselves with how WE CHOOSE to LIVE or DIE? Shocking thought here: We are all the same – human. We have the same organs: breathing lungs, beating heart. We even poop and pee the same! What sets us apart is our own realities, beliefs, and attachments. We actually choose our response to life in all three of these. Yep, you read it correctly: CHOOSE
I realize that my words seem to lead you down a never-ending rabbit hole of thoughts, retorts, and wanting to slam your laptop door shut (how dare she tell me what I can do!), but stay with me. There is a healing light to grasp onto in the midst of these chaotically emotional moments. A story of deep human connection that cannot be taken by war, hate, or even death. We leave the footprints of our lives after our departure. Remember the movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life” or “What Dreams May Come?” Perfect renditions of how we touch the world.
One day, after making a harrowing decision to place my dad in a nursing home, my mother and I were sitting on their deck outside. We sat quietly listening to the birds sing from the wooded area that I knew, growing up, as our backyard. The sun warmed our saddened faces from the waning May chill. Mom was quiet, away from her usual spunky manner. She was so quiet I could feel her pain. I was experiencing the pain of guilt for supporting such a decision for my dad. What had I done? How could I possibly allow Dad to go to a nursing home when I promised him I would care for him? I didn’t know I would be in my 60’s and unable to care for the man who gave me a life, a secure childhood, a roof over my head, food in my stomach, music lessons, sports opportunities. I felt like my insides were slowly being dug out with a dull hoe. In that quiet moment, Mom asked for my hands. I was puzzled. She said, “Please let me have your hands.” I extended my hands.
She gently held my hands for a long period of silence. Mom said warmly as she gazed into my eyes, “How did we get here so fast?” I was her first child, the one that initially changed her life from young woman to mother. She continued speaking with a sweet solace I’ve never heard from her. “Your hands used to be so small. Look at them now. We are both aging.” She smiled, tears dropping from her beautiful hazel eyes. Choking back tears, I was taken with these sobering words. I thought, time has passed so quickly. I was humbled to my core. All of my differences with my mother began to melt into a puddle of black tarry nothingness. It didn’t matter.
Over time, we grew so much even within the small follies of life: Christmases of the past, camping trips, music recitals, sports events, birthday parties, retirement parties, and now…aging through a seemingly quickening of time. Distance had drawn us apart, but I realized these moments in time created meaning to our lives. There seemed to be even more to it all, especially sitting in that moment with her, my hands in hers. All of our difficult moments were behind us as we faced each other with such love and presence. Nature surrounding us on the deck that day seemed to stand still to hear our words, witness our actions of love and perseverance through something so difficult that it froze us in time. It was quiet, peaceful. All we had was this immediate moment and that was all that mattered. Because there was love in that moment that seemed it might be snatched away, but we clung to it. It was all we had left. Nothing else mattered.
I gazed down at my mother’s hands. These worn and wrinkled hands that diapered many giggling, wriggling babes (all six of us), stitched our clothes, quilted beautiful quilts, baked very artful cookies, and plunked away at a song or two on the piano in a fleeting moment of napping children. These eyes that saw so much in her time from war to tragic life circumstances. Her smile could light up a room. Her youthful and-at times- naive humor brought many a snicker from us. In that moment we pondered silently our connections along the way in our lives, when we were together and even those times she and I were many miles apart either by road or in differences. But, the peace was there all along. Right within our loving grasp as we touched our hands. I felt a deep peace in her presence, like my childhood when she read storybooks at bedtime, when she dabbed a scabbed knee, even in her past anger when I was less than what she knew I was. Her voice became the sweet song of the birds in the air, the warmth of love like the sun on my face. I chose how this moment would be. I chose it for the peace that my mother allowed me to feel and that I shared with her to soothe her grieving heart. “It will be okay, Mom,” I assured her. “This is our life now, with changes we have no control over.” She nodded quietly and we both wept. We embraced as mother and daughter in that moment of presence and peace that only we could understand.
Thinking back on this profound act of my mother holding my hands, I am still shaken with the profundity my mother demonstrated that day. There was such a deep connection that we chose to experience within our own levels of grief in sharing our thoughts and feelings. We didn’t always agree on things. In fact, we struggled with our relationship throughout my childhood. At least I noticed it. But, to simply hold hands and look lovingly into each others’ eyes- none of it mattered. None of it. We chose to transform it all into a very mindful and present moment that brought peace to our hearts – even amidst the pain of our decisions. We disconnected from our emotions because they were not truthful. The truth was love. We made the decisions from love to care for my father, choosing not to buy in to the emotions of what others thought we should do or what they thought of our decisions. It came from pure love.
When I recognized that my emotions were playing into the aftermath of my choice I realized that my choice was also to let it go and let it be because there was love in my heart when I did it. I felt free and at peace.
Imagine if you could go to this place of presence and peace every time a conflict arose. There would be no shouting, calling names, getting back at someone, screaming, getting physically violent, and no guilt. With presence you would demonstrate the mindful behavior of emotional choices. It might be the most freedom you have felt in your life. Like a feather soaring through the sky with no end in sight. Simply soaring with peace. You might recognize where you’ve been does not matter. What material things you have might no longer matter. All that matters is love and peace.
Thank you for reading my blog. I hope it brought meaning to your day.
~ Kat
Kat is a freelance writer, co-author, mentor for caregivers, and advocate for women. She practices from her home in the suburbs of St. Louis, Missouri. Kat grew up the oldest of six children, became a very young wife, mother, and family caregiver. She brings compassion for caregivers to her mentorship that allows space for reality, healing, and peace of the mind and heart. You can schedule phone sessions with her by emailing rootedkat@gmail.com. đź’•
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