Standing outside the Double Dutch
Last week I tried to start writing about the year my mother died again. I had written a lot and then stopped, moved on to something else. I had conveniently skipped the part where she actually dies, where we both leave our bodies, and life changes forever. I couldn’t write that part. Why can’t I write it? I know what happens. I live every day with the knowledge of what happened on that day, but I can’t write it down.
Let me tell you a little story from that day. I call it Go Yankees. My mother has died very recently. I am told that I need to pick out an outfit for her to be picked up in. This confuses me, because she is dead, and I thought once you died you didn’t need to pick out outfits anymore, but what do I know.
Hold on, hold on, let me erase this part and write about something else this week. See it’s scary. It’s scary because maybe you are reading it, but it’s really scary to write it, to remember. I have a trick that I do when I am about to cry - I raise my eyebrows really high to thwart my tear ducts - it works!
I am standing in front of a cabinet that holds some of my mother’s clothes; most of my mother’s clothes are across the river at the new house, but when my mother was brought home from the hospital she refused to go anywhere but here. We are at the real house; we are at the house I grew up in. My dead mother is lying where the television used to be in 1986, and someone has asked me to pick out an outfit for her to be picked up in. The being picked up is the worst part and I will not be addressing that today, I will try for the rest of my life to avoid that memory. Several days before I was tasked with bringing some clothes over to the real house from the new house for my mother to wear as she dies. I bring a few of her nightgowns that she wore my entire life, but I know what my mom wants to wear. I know my mother more than I know anything; she wants to wear her Yankees t shirts. My mother loved the Yankees, I mean she LOVED them; I can’t be any more clear than that. I have no choice. I grab a Jeter T shirt, because obviously, and a pair of navy blue cotton pants with a Yankees emblem on the upper right thigh; I hand them to someone and leave the room. I don’t know what I did in the time when I left the room, but when I walk back in the room, past our beautiful Rottweiler who is guarding her, I have no choice but to laugh. My mother’s hair has been brushed. She has her glasses on and she is decked out head to toes in Yankees gear. She is only missing a windbreaker. I sit down. I take her hand and I say, Oh mom, I dressed you like you are going to Atlantic City. I’m so sorry. I bet she kinda liked it. Maybe the after life is a lot like Atlantic City and she’ll fit right in! We sat there, her hand in mine, and we wait. How could I have ever predicted that this would be what our human goodbye looked like? It’s better than I could have hoped for, and will always be my most worst moment.
There I did it. I got closer to the truth that I am most afraid of. I am standing outside the double dutch; I am afraid to jump in. I am afraid of what’s already happened.
I had breakfast with a friend yesterday and I told her what I said to the horse (see 3.2 Miles). I said I am glad my mom died, and then I startled, because it’s not really what I meant. What I meant was seven years later, as I placed my stomach against the heart beat of a horse that I was equal parts cautious of and madly in love with, I realized how much I wouldn’t have if she was still alive. I realized that I wouldn’t be standing there in the hills of Topanga facing myself with so much grace and bravery. If my mother was still alive I wouldn’t be this version of me writing this today, and I am really starting to love her a lot; she might be the best version of me yet!
Now I’ve gone ahead and talked about my mom dying and now that I love myself!! OMG WHAT AM I DOING? The shame police are getting out their citation pads, the fees are piling up!!! I can’t even circle back to what I said to the horse. Fines doubled!!!
My friend from breakfast has also lost people, parts of herself, and we are still laughing and commenting on the most recent Bachelor in Paradise. She says I think the deaths made me more afraid of living and braver than I’ve ever been. She tells me things she wouldn’t have done without the losses.
So often in life it feels like we don’t have a choice, and a lot of sometimes we really don’t. Life happens, and we can only control some of it. Sometimes our nervous systems get so stuck that we need a lot of assistance to get them rolling again. But we do have a decision to make, we always have a decision, do you want to face your self or avoid your self, that is the decision.
I used to think I was brave and then my mom died and I thought I was whatever the opposite of brave is. I thought my brave part left when she left, but I was being brave the whole entire time. I was being brave because I made a decision to face myself. I didn’t make this decision alone, and I still have to make it over and over again.
I ran from myself for so long. I moved as fast as I could. I shoved so much life into me, beautiful, boring, tragic, magic overstimulation. I didn’t want to turn toward myself because I was so afraid of me. I was afraid of what was waiting for me inside, afraid of how I would treat myself if I uncovered and admitted all the sticky shitty little parts of me. I was afraid to really admit what I wanted, and that I would see things that forced me out of my comfort zone. I STILL AM, but I want to face myself more. I want to face all the messy contradictions. I want to know things and take zero action, until I wanna take action. I want to know what I want, so maybe, just maybe I can try and meet those needs. I want to treat myself like a treasure chest filled with gemstones, instead of a field of land mines. I don’t wanna tip toe around myself scared. I want to be the best thing that ever happened to me, and then I wanna hang out with you, because you are your best thing.
Let’s be each other’s brave best things!
Write down one honest truth about your life. Start there.
I love you, xxJenny
