Last October I knew we (me, husband and kids) were going to travel back to Virginia for Thanksgiving. I’d struggled over the decision because for years, we’d hosted the extended family in California for the holiday. Maybe it’s because it’s fall and that’s my favorite season, or because it doesn’t hold the same pressure as Christmas, but I truly love Thanksgiving. I’ve got the plates with Turkeys, the tablecloth, the napkins, the serving bowls in the shape of leaves, etc.
I even got the tradition going that we’d run (walk) a 5k in the morning, eat yummy snacks and then have our feast in the late afternoon/early evening. So, letting someone else host has been sad and difficult for me.
Last year, the first holiday season of my mom being in her memory care home, had me distressed. Part of me wanted to go on a trip, time to celebrate somewhere else, memory free. But guilt nibbled all over me. My poor mom. Could I really leave her ? Not acknowledge the season with her? Of course not. We needed to travel back to Virginia and spend time with her. The logistics aren’t important, but know that I was feeling mixed emotions…mostly sadness.
I started to visualize my hand holding a rope. I had it tight in my grasp and then, finger by finger, I’d let go. The rope moved over my palm. That’s as far as my visualization got. I never saw the end of the rope, it just slid continuously over my palm. To me, it symbolized letting go of expectations and sadness. I needed to let go or I was going to burst.
It wasn’t easy seeing my beautiful mom in her memory care place. I wanted her in her kitchen writing a grocery list or warming her hands on a morning coffee mug while she looked for deer outside the window. I went every day to see her. I held her tight. I told her how wonderful she is and how much I miss her. Thank God, the facility made us all wear masks, because my tears absorbed into the fabric without her noticing.
For our Thanksgiving celebration with her, we opted for a meal out. I picked her up and drove her back. Everything went pretty well. But I knew she was done before dessert arrived. I whispered to her if she was ready to leave and she gave me a nod. On the drive back she chit chatted about things from her past, when suddenly, completely off topic, she said, “Louise, do you believe in God?” To hear her remember my name was music to my ears. Her question wasn’t unusual. My mom has an unshakeable faith and often wondered out loud if I believed. I said, “Of course mom. I do.” Then she went on to say, “You need to let go. Just let go. I need to let go too.”
Of all the words my mom could have chosen?! Tears streamed down my face and my throat hurt as I strained to keep my emotions in line. Was she giving me permission to say good-bye to our old lives, that she was going to be okay and I should let the guilt go?
It’s been about six months and I’m set to go see her again. I had to deal with a big injury this year, so flying up to visit hasn’t been easy. Again, my inner voice is saying that the rope needs to remain on the palm of my hand and not in a tight fist.
