Remember how much fun playing in the yard with the hose was as a kid? I never thought much about that old garden hose until recently when I realized what a beautiful contraption it really is.
Let me explain.
When my mom passed away when I was 13 all I wanted to do was run. Run from the stillness her absence left, run from the pity-eyes everyone at school gave me, run from adults telling me how sorry they were for me, etc.
So I pushed. I pushed everything down as far as I could and told myself that I was fine.
Then the memories started to disappear. Pretty soon things you would think a 13 year old who loved her mother very much would remember were fading away. I felt driftless at best and desperately alone at worst.
Then the memories started to disappear. Pretty soon things you would think a 13 year old who loved her mother very much would remember were fading away. I felt driftless at best and desperately alone at worst.
So many of us know something is off in regards to our grief emotions, but we don’t always know why. This disconnect is a direct result of us not allowing our past to connect with our present. It takes a lot of effort to squeeze a hose so the water doesn’t flow, but we believe it is worth it because we buy into the lie that “feeling” is worse than the fatigue of trying not to feel.
My friends, let me save you hours of research and cut to the chase: it’s not better.
So, how? How does one start to release a grip so habitual and strong from years of clenching due to fear? The first step is to close your eyes, release a big breath, and literally imagine yourself letting go. Does that make you feel a little lighter, too?
The first step is to let go. Accept the little reminders. Surrender when sorrow knocks. Embrace the memories. Disregard what other people are thinking. We can get to “active” grief exercises another time; today is the time to do less, it’s time to unkink the hose.
As I write this I am 26 years old. I used to say, “I have spent half of my life without my mom.” In a way, that’s still true - I have not seen her physical body for 13 years… but I ‘m starting to see it differently now.
I don’t believe that my mom is confined to only be part of my first 13 years. Sure, her physical presence with me might have been limited, but her spirit will be with me always. The lessons I learned will continue to take on new meanings and the traditions she instilled will be passed on to my kids one day. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t seem like I am living “without her.”
Now by no means am I dismissing the soul crushing pain of losing someone as great as my mom. Of course I wish she was here to light up a room like she used to.
But it feels really good to let her back into my life, to draw connections and find lost memories. As my past and present continue to become one cohesive unit, I am feeling more grounded and surrounded by great company.
The hose is a wonderful contraption that allows for water to give life to areas a spout could never reach on its own. Let’s unkink the hose and let it do what it was designed to do.
Much love,
Miki
