There are so many of you over there. So many gone, yet so many of us remain here, grappling with the void you’ve left on this side.
Some say you’ve ascended to a better place. But is that really the case? Or is it a convenient notion to soothe the pain we feel in your leaving us here on this earthly plane?
For all the destruction, the wars, the crime and trauma, can there truly be a better place than this one world in which we are born to live until death calls us to the mystery of the other side?
My mother often quipped, “There’s no green grass on the other side.” She had a penchant for twisting sayings in her own unique way. Like how she’d instruct my sister and me to “broom the floor.” Or that time she told my brother after his relentless teasing had become too much, “Oh, eat it.”
That one elicited outright laughter from my sister, Anne, and me. Knowing she was oblivious to its true meaning made it all the more comical, especially coming from a woman who never uttered a swear word in her life.
Though it pains me now to admit it, there were times my mother often appeared almost ridiculous, sometimes even, pathetic. With the perpetual clicking of her rosary beads, her lips moving in silent prayer, and her earnest declarations that she would pray for me. Growing up, I continually rejected her prayers with my assertions she should save them for those who wanted them. It was only later as I began to understand that prayers were her love language that I learned to embrace them as a precious offering from the woman who gave me life.
It was only in her passing that I began to understand her expressions of love were never intended to wound or harm. And, although at times her way of loving left me feeling overlooked, even invisible, I know she loved in the only way she knew how. Her way.
Growing up, I dreamed of a different kind of mother. My ideal mother. One I could confide in, seek counsel from, and proudly share my victories and setbacks, assured of her unwavering support and understanding.
But my mother was never that idealized figure.
For years, my perception of her failing to meet my expectations caused a rift between us. My resentment manifested not in words, but through my actions and demeanor around her.
I’m certain she sensed my disapproval and criticism. She was too kind to mention it or call me on my bad behaviour.
Forgiving myself for treating her as the misplaced scapegoat of my life’s missteps was a crucial step before and after she passed. My frustration was rooted not in her failings, but in my own unrealistic expectations.
This became the most profound lesson I learned from her: the expectations we place on others are often the architects of our own disappointment. Not because they intend to let us down, but because our expectations limit their ability to fully be themselves, to express their truth in our presence.
I can’t say what my mother is doing on the other side. I hope she’s standing in a circle with her mother and father, sharing the wondrous stories of their lives. I hope she’s laughing that tinkling laugh that sounded like bells on Christmas morning. And I hope she is dancing with her siblings as my father lovingly watches at the edge of the light that bathes her like a halo. I hope my brother and sister are dancing with her too.
Even though she often told me she loved to dance, I don’t remember ever dancing with her in life. I hope she’s dancing in death.
I hope her dance on the other side if full of wild abandon as she twirls to the rhythms that make her heart soar and her feet flutter as if borne on angel’s wings.
I hope she is dancing.
Dare Boldly 
I am moved by the way you write vulnerability, clearly, and beautifully. You bring the depths of the human heart to light in such a skillful way. You are a gifted writer. Thanks for sharing your heart’s experiences with us ❤️
LikeLike
Thanks for sharing . Grief is a unique journey, and your honest and open sharing of your experiences can offer comfort and understanding to others facing similar challenges.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you! It is my hope. To inspire others to find comfort and understanding in what often feels like the darkness of grief.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Our mother relationships can be so difficult and trying. I too wished for a different mother. One like the Mothers Day cards talked about.
That was not the case.
I didn’t fail my mother, although she made me feel like it.
That’s important to consider.
She failed me. She couldn’t be the mother I yearned for, or the one that was portrayed in the movies and those cards. She tried her best so others could see she was doing a good job. We children were well dressed, well mannered and polite… but never felt unconditional love.
After many years I realized she was insecure and immature… and a narcissist.
She was so wrapped up in herself and her insecurities, she wasn’t able to empathize and truly love.
After a lot of heartfelt reflection I have forgiven her for being the way she is. I love her because she is my mother. I don’t like her as a person in so many ways. I see myself in her. I forgive that part of me too. I am grateful she is still alive and I have found peace in our relationship.
It’s never too late to find peace, even after they are gone. 🕊️🙏🏻🤍
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you Val. Like your mother, mine too was very narcissistic. Her ‘nastiness’ was often targetted at me – there are many reasons for that most of which was she felt she couldn’t control me. (She was kind of right. 🙂 )
Before she died at 97, my therapist told me that some relationships cannot be healed while one of the parties is alive.
She was right.
In her death, I have found myself healing in places I didn’t even know I carried pain. I think my sister’s death has impacted me so much more as it was Jackie who was my care-giver, the one I called when in distress or needing advice. She was ‘the mother’ I needed to become me. My mother was the one I needed to let go of the ways of being in this world that do not work for me.
In death, she continues to serve that role in her afterlife visits. It has been quite amazing to me how much peace I find in those experiences.
Hugs. As you say — never too late to find peace, even after they are gone. 🕊️🙏🏻🤍
❤ ❤ ❤
LikeLiked by 2 people
A beautiful journey of unfolding, and love. Thank you for sharing Louise 💐
LikeLike
We’ve all felt that we failed our parents at one time or another, and there are no doubt many times we failed to live up to their expectations while we were too busy trying to live up to our expectations or paddle through whatever river of shite we were in at the time. And now, it’s us – not having been what our kids think we ought to have been or done (I’m speaking of mine and their laundry list of my failings), and they are too busy pursuing their vision of a life they have little time or regard for me. Yes, it’s all shite! … The views you voice are common – and while I share many of your sentiments, I’m in the ‘non-believer’ camp so I confine myself to the side of the grass I woke up on this morning. Long may we mow …
Cheers,
Mark
LikeLiked by 1 person
Dearest Mark, I am sorry your adult children still have a laundry list of your failings. I’m sorry they have little time or regard for you. That’s harsh and undeserved.
No matter how my mother acted or said things that were designed to hurt me, I knew she loved me. I was fortunate, through her mistakes she taught me the importance of being present with my children, of being accepting and open to their foibles, and to be conscious of mine.
Of course, I often missed the mark. Often took misteps, said the wrong thing when they needed to hear something else. But, through it all, including my disappearance and desertion of them, they knew I loved them. Fiercely. It is what allowed us to heal and build an even strong relationship.
Wile in Vancouver, my daughters took me out for my birthday dinner and during a conversation about careers and life, my eldest daughter asked her sister, “What kind of leader do you want to be?” (She’s the Dir. of Mktg for Canada for a multi-national) My youngest daughter answered, “Like mom. I’ve never met anyone who worked for her who didn’t think she was amazing and would work for her again.”
Believe me, I was taken aback and much to their delight, had tears in my eyes.
I don’t tell you this to cause envy or poke your wound, I tell you because I believe anything is possible. There was a time I feared my daughters would never forgive me. I never imagined I’d become their role model.
I wish for you this Christmas a gentle heart, strong back and loving arms to wrap around those who mean so much to you so that your hearts connect with nothing but Love between them.
LikeLike