Yesterday was my birthday.
My second birthday without my mom.
2007 was a "big" birthday and last year I was surrounded by friends who went to a lot of trouble to make sure I wasn't alone for my milestone celebration. Although I was deeply stuck in a grief rut and almost canceled the dinner party several times, on the actual evening I did enjoy myself a little and greatly appreciated the love behind the gesture.
This year I spent my birthday alone.
It was very hard.
I did pretty well during the daylight hours. But when night fell I was struck with an overwhelming loneliness I could not shake.
It was my own fault. I could have called up some people and made plans. But I work Sundays and am usually pretty wiped out by the end of the day. I had thought I might celebrate on Saturday, or today, but my heart wasn't in it. Part of it is a childish anger that if anything is going to happen for my birthday, I am the one who has to arrange everything. I suspect that my mom used to call other family members and remind them my birthday was coming. I know she used to remind me about other people's birthdays. I did get a few cards, and some phone calls Sunday morning before I went to work.
But last night after I left work I sat in the car and wept for my mommy with gut wrenching sobs as I haven't done for months.
I wept because I felt guilty that I had created such a lonely life for myself. I felt like a really sad sack of potatoes. I was embarrassed at what my tears said about the sad state of my social life and personal connection network. No spouse, no prospects, no children. My oldest and dearest friends hundreds of miles away. My closest friends in the Boston area work Sundays also. My nearest family member is in Connecticut and the others are all further south.
I lived alone for many years before my mother came to live with me. I enjoyed my solitude after years of uncomfortable roommate compromises. I thought I had made my peace with being alone, or at least that I was completely resigned to it. No one was more surprised than I when I quickly grew to like the idea that I was not coming home to an empty apartment. That someone was waiting for me to come home. That someone cared about what time I came home. That when I walked in the door I would hear a shout of "my baby's home!" and see a smile full of love and get a big hug—-as well as she could from her hospital bed. And there would be someone to ask me about the things that happened that day. Someone I could tell that I drove to Cambridge to get the gas that was 20 cents cheaper, who would celebrate that small victory; someone I could tell the political joke I heard on the radio, who would laugh. Someone to cook for and care for and feel on a day to day basis as if I was needed. Someone who stayed alive at the cost of terrible physical pain and emotional trial because she was so happy to be living with me.
I know people keep saying I should not have centered my life around my mother for those years. I know it's sad that I neglected my social life, even in the decades before mom lived with me. I know I should be using this grief period to reach out to friends and family instead of isolating. But last night none of that mattered. Last night I was alone on my birthday and missing my mom. She's gone and it felt like she was all I had. My main identity at that moment was motherless child—adult orphan. I felt completely lost and disconnected. Disconnected from my birthday, from my friends and family, from myself, even from the pulse of life. I wasn't feeling actively suicidal, but it crossed my mind that there isn't much to hold me here. And then I cried about that. What a sad and empty legacy.
Fortunately, that is not the end of the story.
A dear friend from graduate school (one of the ones who has to work weekends like I do) left a long message on my answering machine for me to find when I came home. So when I walked into my empty apartment after crying my eyes out and wondering what the point of it all was, I found her voice reading this poem on my answering machine. I listened to it three times:
On the day of your birth
The Creator filled countless storehouses and stockings
With rich ointments, luscious tapestries
And antique coins of incredible value
Jewels worthy of a queen's dowry
They were set aside for your use
Alone
Armed with faith and hope
And without knowing of the wealth which awaited
You broke through dense walls of poverty
And loosed the chains of ignorance which
threatened to cripple you so that you
could walk
A Free Woman
Into a world which needed you
My wish for you
Is that you continue.
Continue
To be who and how you are
To astonish a mean world with your acts of kindness
Continue
To allow humor to lighten the burden of your tender heart
Continue
In a society dark with cruelty
To let the people hear the grandeur
Of God in the pearls of your laughter
Continue
To let your eloquence
Elevate the people to heights
They had only imagined
Continue
To remind the people that
Each is as good as the other
And that no one is beneath nor above you
Continue
To remember your own young years
And look with favor upon the lost
And the least and the lonely
Continue
To put the mantel of your protection
Around the bodies of the young and defenseless
Continue
To take the hand of the despised
And diseased and walk proudly with them in the high street
Some might see you and be encouraged to do likewise
Continue
To plant a public kiss of concern
On the cheek of the sick and the aged and infirm
And count that as a natural action to be expected
Continue
To let gratitude be the pillow upon which you kneel
to say your nightly prayer
And let faith be the bridge you build to overcome evil
And welcome good
Continue
To ignore no vision which comes to enlarge your range
And increase your spirit
Continue
To dare to love deeply and risk everything for the good thing
Continue
To float happily in the sea of infinite substance
Which set aside riches for you before you had a name
Continue
And by doing so
You and your work
Will be able to continue
Eternally.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Today everything is pretty much the same. I'm still a lonely sad sack of potatoes.
But I am doing what I can to practice gratitude. At least I had a mom who loved me. And told me so, every day. Some people who have spouses and children and money and all the things I don't have, feel cheated by life because they did not have a loving mom. And at least I had the joys of being with her and caring for her and bringing smiles to her face. I improved her quality of life and made her final years and months better than they would have been in institutional care.
So reorienting my thoughts and listening to the poem helped me get through the birthday crisis, and even added an overlay of hope. I am not Oprah and I am not wealthy and Maya Angelou did not write that poem about me. But I am touched that my friend somehow sensed across the miles that I needed affirmation and left me that message. It reminds me that I do have family and friends who care about me, and though my mother is gone my life is supposed to go on, and there are people who feel I am here for a reason.
My grief counselor says that the best response to those overwhelming waves of deep grief is to find some small positive thing to concentrate on in the present moment. Right now I have the window open and a cool breeze is coming in that feels so good after the heat wave of recent days. I am listening to the rain fall with thunder in the distance--one of the most soothing and relaxing sounds in the world to me. I splurged on take out from my favorite Chinese restaurant since I didn't have a birthday meal yesterday. I am going to open my birthday cards after I post this. I am taking pleasure in these little things.
I know grief work is cyclical. Yesterday was a setback and a backslide. Holidays and birthdays may trigger similar feelings for a while. But I am already bouncing back. I was doing well a few months ago. Maybe that feeling will come back around. Maybe I will see light at the end of the tunnel again soon.
In any case, I feel ready to continue...
A special welcome to anyone who is new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent or many years ago, whether you have lost a person or a pet, or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive ("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and process your grieving in whatever way works for you. Share whatever you need to share. We can't solve each other's problems, but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
To those of you who are suffering, I can only say, "Take the love that is offered, it is not a cure, but it is a balm to ease you through." To those who are further down the road, "Thank you for hanging out to help the suffering." And to all of you, "Thank you for being online, wherever and whoever you are. You are precious." h/t nancelot
Here is a link to previous diaries in The Grieving Room series.