Raisin Rapture 892

mum-make-up-bag-high-resDear Mom,

Sorry I haven’t written in awhile. It doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about you. It’s actually the opposite. I’ve been holding a lot of guilt again over things that I think I didn’t do for you. And I’m finding it hard to let go of that.

I still say my daily morning prayer for you, and my “What should we do today?” questions during the day. I haven’t missed a day yet. It has become such a habit, that I could probably say it in my sleep now. And actually, I often do. Definitely the prayer part as I say it as soon as I get up.

But I’m trying to find other ways to connect with you and what you went through and even what I missed of you when you were here.

One of those was your daily routine- especially of getting ready and you know, brushing your teeth, and your hair. I know you liked putting on some hairspray, and doing a little back comb in your hair to give it a little body. I still actually have that hairspray of yours. It has lasted this long because I rarely use it. But I like that it’s in front of me, and I can spray a little here or there from time to time.

And I know that you loved putting on lipstick, and that you loved it when I had it on.

I always feel like my lips are so thin, and lipstick rarely stays on my lips. And when it does, I don’t even know if it can really be seen. But guess what I kept of yours? And am using very often? The last lipstick that you were using.

It’s such a beautiful colour, and I can just imagine it on you. It’s called Raisin Rapture. It’s colour number 892 in the L’Oreal Colour Riche collection, I guess. That’s what it says on the bottom of the canister it’s it.

The first time I put it on, I was nervous. I didn’t know if it was going to make me sad, or make me feel guilty, or make we wish that I had treasured or made more lipstick type moments happen with you more. I think I went through all of those feelings, and still do when I wear this colour. But I also imagine what you were doing, where you were going, and what you may have been thinking about when you would put on the lipstick.

Were you heading to an event at Khane? Were you coming out to meet us for a family gathering? Would you look at your face and think about how time has changed it? I know I do that sometimes. Or were you just seeing if the colour matched your outfit? Or trying to find what top would best match the lipstick?

I miss your features like your lips, and nose, and smooth skin and deep eyes. I miss the softness of your hair and the baby powder scent that came off of you even in your 70’s.

I miss the voice and words that fell from your lips, and the way your words, and even your silences, could touch me like no one else’s could nor every will.

I’m sorry I didn’t take more time to sit and listen to the words, or sit in silence with you. I am sorry that I didn’t ask you more questions about you, and take more notice of your lipstick colours, or find out what colours you loved the most- not just in make up, but in the world around you.

My mom made my world the most colourful that it could ever be. I didn’t know just how much that was true until she was gone.

I am always searching for your colours somehow. Not to replace you because that could never happen. But in hopes that you are bringing me signs that you are still here with me, in another way, in other forms. And that you are doing well where you are. That you are in utter joy and peace.
That’s what I want the most for you. For you to be surrounded by colour and caring and compassion like the kind you showered us with for so long.

I guess I keep your lipstick, and put it across my lips, to feel some of my mother’s colour and kiss touch my face. It’s like wearing a bit of you when I go out into the world.

I felt a little like you the first time I put on your lipstick. I hope it was you giving me a smile, blowing me a kiss, or a wink of approval.

Like You…

family mother and child daughter hugs and warm on winter evening by fireplace

Dear Mom,

Today is Day 13 of the 21 Days of Abundance Challenge (as prescribed by Deepak Chopra0. The assignement asks for me to think about the description I wrote about you a few days ago (from Day 11 and 12) and then consider my own life and my own patterns of behaviour.

The questions I am asked to reflect on are:

  1. Do you see some similarities between you and your mom
  2. and What are they and how were they formed?

Whooh. I just took a shallow breath in but a deep exhale out. I might need to do that again, trying for a deeper breath in this time.

I would say that is one little thing we had in common. I think you also breathed in shallow, or that you didn’t take as many opportunities to breathe deep into yourself. I could be wrong, and perhaps you did do this many times in those mornings you spent hours in meditation in Khane.

I just remember almost hearing and feeling a shallowness in your breathing that often worried me. I don’t breathe deeply myself. But there are a few different reasons for that, I think, which I won’t go into right now.

Other things that are similar between you and me:

I like tea- because of you. I don’t like drinking cold water.  It feels like a jolt to my system. And I remember you telling me it isn’t good for our bodies. I agree. Thanks, Mom.

I like warmth or coziness in general- blankets, warm socks, slippers and comfy sweatshirts or leggings when I am at home. I also like warm voices, and warm energy from people I am around. I think were like that too in terms of your preference, though I think you preferred not to wear any thick socks on your feet.

Guess what, mom? I do so many things now that are like you that I didn’t even realize until the last few years. I pile my clean laundry in neat stacks on the futon that you had. The same futon you used to pile your granddaughters’ clothes just in case they might need an extra pair of underwear, socks, shirts or pants when they came over.

My pile is just my own clothes. Eventually, they make their way to my closet. But I think I keep them out on the futon a little longer these days to try to feel what you may have felt when you did the same.

I also got rid of my little garbage can in the kitchen a year or more ago. I realized that, like you, I was never using it. I didn’t like the idea of garbage piling up in it and smelling the underneath of my kitchen sink, the cabinet where I had put the garbage bin. So I always use a plastic bag hanging off one of the handles of a kitchen drawer, as my garbage bag. No bin needed. That is definitely a Laila move. 🙂

I am walking around my apartment with my slippers off of my heels. I do that with a lot of my shoes- getting lazy about putting the back of the shoe over my heels and getting my whole foot in. I think for you this was more of a convenience because you probably had a harder time reaching down to get your heel in. I do that too a lot of the times, and I have seen your eldest granddaughter do this often too. I will see if it trickles down to your youngest granddaughter as well. Now, when my shoes are laid out, you can see a dip or bend in the back top part of the heel where my foot crushed that part down instead of going into the shoe. Oops.

I like birds, and watching them- more so because of you and Mama. But I do. I take my time with things too. I like moving slowly even though I envy people who can do things sharply and quickly. But it doesn’t feel comfortable for me. I know you were like that too. I found out that that is probably because we are both heavily governed by the Earth Element according to the Chinese Medicine system of personality types. I am sure you were more Earth than any of the other five elements, and suprisingly, from my scores on some quizzes I took to determine my dominant element, I am more Earth as well.

Earth’s are compassionate, caring, mothering, and love to bring people together. I would say that describes you more than me. I mean, I am caring and compassionate, and I worry about things and people like I am sure you did. But you were the ultimate mother figure. I am a giver, but nothing compared to you. I can be cute, but never as cute as you. And my worries sometimes led me to confusion and an inability to act. Whereas, your worrying made you act on things to make sure that everyone around you was safe and protected, included and loved.

You were definitely way more courageous than I am. Although you didn’t come across as an arguer or someone who got into people’s faces with your opinions, you definitely spoke up when it was needed. You stood your ground, you fought for what was right and good for your loved ones, and I am still trying to learn from that, to find that within me.

You gave more than you had most of the time. I would say that I am not that giving. I mean, when I have less, I panic, and hold onto what I have because of fear that I will lose it or fear from projecting ahead to the worst case scenario what-ifs. You didn’t do that. You actually demonstrated true abundance by letting things go- trinkets, money, love, energy, time- because somewhere deep down inside, you knew, or maybe your subconscious knew- that living and giving was more important. Even when you had very little, you didn’t complain about it or go into any panic mode or hoard what you did have. You still gave, which makes me again so humbled by your great example of abundance. You just had to believe it was there in order to give as much as you did without fear, without selfishness, without hesitancy.

I have only had moments of that, and then I stumble again and hang on to too much or worry too much or grieve what is lost rather than live what is in front of me.

I think we both feel a lot for others. But again, when you did, you were able to push through it and DO what was needed to help those people. I, on the otherhand, get tongued tied or scared or freeze in times of worry or emergency.

I would have really not made a good doctor, Mom. I know you were hoping your kids would maybe go in that direction in their careers, but it was definitely not something I should be doing. I hate hospitals (like you- haha), and blood and I can get absent minded which helps my creative side but would not be good for medical care.

But in all seriousness, another really important quality I think we share is our inability to ask for what we want, for fear of being a burden to others. I think part of it comes from us wanting to be self-sufficent, and independent, and being a little stubborn. We both try to pretend we can handle more than we can (Well, maybe you really could. But in your case, you shouldn’t have had to). I think burn out can be a real thing, and can manifest in our bodies and cause issues with our health.

But somewhere, somehow, we learned that we had to do it ourselves, that asking for help was somehow weak. Or maybe when we did ask for help, it wasn’t done in the way or with the values that we would have liked. So… we thought it was better done ourselves than to rely on others.

We also really love kids. I do, even though I don’t have any myself. But it is a big reason I became a teacher. I think you were more the nurturer of kids- you liked giving them a feeling of home and unconditional love. I am more a believer of kids’ incredible ability to be whoever and whatever they want. And I think I try to foster this in them as much as I can. Maybe because I appreciate all those in my life who instilled that faith in myself in me as well.

I think a big difference between us though is that I spend a lot of time self nurturing and getting back to myself because I need it and think it is important, and I wish that you had done more of that for yourself. But I also know that perhaps your Earth element was so strong in you that you got more energized and joyful and felt much more at peace when you were giving to others rather than yourself. I just still wish that I had given more to you to make up for all of your giving. I wish that you had someone in your life that was nurturing, supporting and loving you unconditionally as you did for us. That’s an area that I have not reached. You were the ultimate in that.

I guess that the similarities and differences between us were partly formed in that despite us being mother and daughter, we were still individuals with different paths to lead and different personalities. Some of my own being independent probably came from me watching you do things on your own and being so independent that I thought that was just the way we were supposed to be. But on the flip side, seeing you do so much for others, and rarely taking as much care of yourself, may have made me go a little too far to other extreme of distancing myself from family sometimes so that I can make sure I do have “me” time and get back to me and take care of me.

Strangely enough, many of my motivations- as far as getting a job and having a career, and working hard and being serious with what I was doing and where I wanted to get to with it- came from me wanting to give you a good and better life. To take care of you and take the burden off of you of doing so much. But somewhere along the line, things didn’t go the way that I thought. And I am ashamed to say in the midst of all that, I somehow forgot the big picture of what I was trying to do, without even realizing that I let my focus get sidetracked.

Now, I am trying to do what will make you proud, what will make your life and your giving us life, worthy of you and all you stand for. But I guess I am also trying to do that recognizing that we are different people and I will need to do this in a way that is right for me as well, so that I can find and follow through with my life purpose.

I just know that will not ever be separate from you. I won’t let it be. Again, that is not to hang onto to you or hold you back from your soul’s journey. But just to say that you and I are connected, Mom. And I want to stay connected because, as the sign under my window sill says, “Just one lifetime won’t be enough for us.” At least I know it won’t be for me. I need you, Mom, and I thank you for all that you have given me- your lessons, your example, your caring and your strength.

Love always and forever,  Tas

 

 

 

Ask Mom…

mother and daughter2Dear Mom,

Today’s assignement in the 21 Days of Abundance program is for me to ask you, my mom, two questions:

  1. What has been your greatest pain or greatest disappoinment in your life? and
  2. What is your dream or greatest desire that remains unfulfilled?

Wow. I don’t know about you, but even thinking about asking you these questions feels really heavy for me. The assignment says that if my mother is no longer with me or if I can’t ask her personally, that I can go into a state of meditation and ask her personally.

Since I don’t really go into traditional states of meditation, I am going to use this writing to meditate on this. And ask you, Mom, what would be your answers to these questions.

I could be wrong, but I feel like one of your disappointments or pain would be that your family didn’t stay together the way that you may have wanted. I know family is so important to you. And you were really the glue to our family in my opinion. But even with all of your giving and understanding and patience and forgiveness, there were things that you might have been sad to see torn apart in your bigger family.

That makes me sad. I mean, to think that you could have any regrets or even think that any of it was your fault, it wasn’t. Mom, you did the best that you could. And you kept us all together. Really and truly you did.

I think you also wanted to spend more time with your grandchildren. I am sorry I didn’t help you out more with that. I tried, but sometimes, there were so many people involved, and they weren’t my kids, so it wasn’t easy for me to figure out. I know that wasn’t exactly my fault, but at the same time, I know how much every moment you had with those two girls meant the world to me. I wish I could have given you more of those moments. They love you though. And they know that you did the best that you could. You are an amazing grandmother.

I am scared that you feel that you weren’t there enough for me and your son. And I want you to know, Mom, that I never ever felt that way, nor will I ever. I am amazed at how much you did for us. I don’t know how you did it, in fact. I know that you had said to me on occasion that you wish you had spent more time with us when we were growing up. But I think that you are forgetting that you did. You really did. We understand that you had to go to work. I understand that you were handling so much on your own.

And when I hear about other families where the kids’ moms were just not treating their kids well, or just not putting them first, it shocks me. Because honestly, having you as a mom made me think that that is what moms were all like- giving, nurturing, understanding, sweet, soft, kind and caring. I couldn’t imagine moms being any different than that, or less than that. Sometimes, I heard you under your breath say things that sounded like you thought you didn’t do enough. But mom, I wish you could see and feel how much gratitude I have for you. Your intentions were so heart felt and always so compassionate. I am so honoured to have you as a mom.

2. As far as your dream or greatest desire that remains unfulfilled… I don’t know if I can find an answer to that, an answer from you. Would it be an answer from the past- something you feel like you didn’t fulfill in this lifetime that just passed, or something that you still want to have fulfilled while you are in spirit form now? We didn’t really talk about your dreams. I wish we had. I think you were always trying to support other people’s dreams around you.

I think during your lifetime, you secretly wanted all that love back- all the love that you gave. And that is totally understandable. I wonder if you wanted a house with a husband in it that you loved and who loved you and your kids coming by with everyone more connected and happy. You never showed it or acted like it, but I think you wanted your own real love story. I think you wanted someone to take the burden off of you of doing everything yourself. Not that you ever made us feel like a burden. I know you loved doing things for everyone, but I wonder if looking back, you wanted to also be given to. And that you could feel safe and protected and taken cared of enough to receive all of that. That you could let go of so much responsibility and worry. I don’t know. Perhaps these are my own dreams and desires for you. Or maybe I could feel some of these coming through you when you were here physically with us, and when you are here around us in another form.

I cannot speak for you. But sometimes they say that what we give the most of, is actually what we crave the most. And you were the biggest giver of love and caring and kindness that I knew and will ever know. So I wonder if that is what you wanted back in all honesty- protection, love, giving, kindness.  I know you had so many giving people in your life, but it probably didn’t compare to your giving. But I hope that you are getting that desire met with the utmost power where you are now. Afterall, you are with one of the other most giving, loving mamas that I will ever know- your mom. My Mama.

I love you, Mom. I am sorry I couldn’t help you make all of your dreams come true, and I am sorry that I couldn’t protect you from a life of no regret. But I will try to continue to live out my dreams and desires with the utmost intent for both you and me.

And now I am curious how your Mom would answer these questions. Could you ask her and get back to me on that? I don’t even know if that is possible, but hey, on this Day 12 Assignment and meditation, Deepak Chopra reminds us that there is a “field of all possibilities” that we can throw seeds of intention into for whatever we want or need. And I need to hear from my mom. I need to know that she is okay and at peace and that her mom is taking care of her. And together, they are having a blast. Can’t wait to hear back fro you, Mom, however you decide to reach me.

Love Tas

 

 

 

Born into Abundance

IMG_20200321_183950_977

Dear Mom,

I have been wanting to tell you so much lately. The world is crazy right now- with a virus that is making so many people sick everywhere- the Corona Virus. I don’t even know where it got its name. But people are in fear, people are sad, people have lost their jobs, people are isolating themselves to help make sure this virus doesn’t spread more than it has to, and there aren’t many peope at all on the streets. Everyone has been sent home, asked to stay home, and people are connecting more to what is important, I think.

During this time, when this first all started, I had received a message from a friend of mine – an invitation to join a 21 Days of Abundance group over Whatsapp. It’s based on Deepak Chopra’s teachings and his meditations. Yeah, I guess I meditate. Not very well, but it seems to creep more and more into my life. Anyway, I accepted,  thinking it would just be a series of inspiring exercises. Turns out that the exercises led to me forming my own group, as this was one of the tasks on day 5, and boy has that been quite a great lesson for me. To learn how to lead, to make some decisions that I might not otherwise put myself in charge of. And to connect with friends from all over who I haven’t been in touch with for awhile.

Some people dropped out of my group, some people enthusiastically joined and are really inspiring me.

And I am still in the group that is led by the friend who started me on this journey in the first place. Today is Day 11 for me in that group, and it is all about the Law of Least Effort. That we don’t need to work as hard or struggle as much as we were maybe programmed to believe in order to achieve our dreams. That abundance is more about getting aligned with the flow of things so that we can achieve our desires with ease.

I am not sure how it relates yet, but the assignment for this Day asks us to describe our mom. There are a few questions or guidelines, to follow. I thought instead of just writing this down on a piece of paper, I would write it to you here:

20200321_164747The positive aspects of my mom- everything about my mom was and is positive. She is kind, sweet, thoughtful, the most generous person I know. She is cute, soft, funny, has the smoothest skin, values simplicity and the little things, liked watching TV, especially her Hindi movies, and is the best mother I could have ever asked for.

She is nurturing, knows how to make everything better, is strong, a fighter, a giver, and so so loyal. She inspires me to never give up, she inspires me to always listen, to be generous, to be humble, to be grateful, to love unconditionally, to notice when people are feeling left out or sad, to not follow the crowd. She inspires me to be the best that I can, to make her proud, to support family, to be honest, to smile, to laugh, to let some things roll off of my shoulders. She inspires me to be strong and to fight for what I believe in. She inspires me to remember family values, to have faith, to enjoy silences, to take my time, to love myself, to not overcomplicate things, to nap, and give thanks. To bless God, to pray, to believe, to move mountains, and also stay in place without having to do something to be. She inspires me to just be. To not judge myself. To help others, and to let go of things that might otherwise bring me down, frighten me or cause me pain.

Her limitations- she honestly doesn’t and didn’t have any. Anything that my mother did or said that in that moment might not have made sense to me or confused me or frustrated me for awhile, I now get. I now understand why she reacted the way she did. She was right about everything. I am not saying this to be kind or to cover up her flaws. It just is what it is. She was right. She was hurting sometimes, and hadn’t let it out. So I might not have understood some of her behaviours that resulted from that. But they were not limitations. She was trying to be strong and not burden us with her pain or fear or sorrow. That takes courage, and will power and so much strength. It is not a limitation. But I wish my mother cut herself more slack. I wish she was as kind and generous and giving and unconditionally loving to herself as she was to us. I wish I had been that way to her. She didn’t have limitations. But she gave to everyone more than herself. I feel like I was the one who was displaying limitations in my inability to to give to her the way I feel I should have. I guess I wish she had practising receiving more. But maybe she just wasn’t given to enough to do that. Maybe I also wish she had made more use of the things given to her instead of keeping them aside for another day.

IMG_20200321_183950_975What did I learn from her?- Everything. Compassion, courage, humility, the beauty of simplicity, how to give and give and give. I learned strength, loyalty, nurturing and the power of a mother’s touch from her. I learned how short life is from my mother. And I learned the power of grief from her passing. I also am learning the power love to cross any boundaries, including death.

What brings us or brought us together?- an ambilical cord. Haha. Her mother. Tea. Definitely tea. Her granddaughters. My brother. Birds. Songs. Music. Simplicity. Food. Especially the sweet kind. Samosas. Chocolate. Kit Kat. Love. Lots and Lots of Love. Fear, sometimes. But then again, maybe fear kept me further from her on some days. Fear of losing her, fear of seeing her age. Fear of her worrying about me when I was not feeling well. Her stories about Khane brought us together. Faith brought us together. Our tenderness brought us together. Our earth element personalities brought us together. Clothes, especially tbe bright or silky ones, brought us together. Our femininity brought us together. Shopping, the mall and our petite size brought us together. Our hearts and soul connections brought us and keep us together. Pain and loss brought us together but also at first seemed to tear us apart.

What separates/separated or distances/distanced us? Misunderstandings, death, holding in emotions, fear, sadness, love, society, cultural expectations or pressures, prejudice, my not setting my priorities straight, my lack of physical strength, my lack of courage, my lack of self confidence, my fears of others, my fear of myself. My guilt, my shame, my sorrow, my regret, my anger (never towards her but towards situations and other people around our lives).

My mother taught me what a sense of home is. It is with her, and in her presence, in her energy that I feel at home. We are all being sent home during this time of the Corona Virus pandemic. So I am just trying to connect back to where and what my mom is.

Mom, I won’t believe that I have lost you. And if I have temporarily, I will find you. I know it can’t be the physical you. But I am being sent home to find the values and lessons and love that you taught me, and instilled in me. And I am going to reach them so deeply and embody them with all that I can. I was already blessed with the ultimate abundance in having you as a mom. I will just keep sitting in that more, and sharing it with others.

This is not truly my 11th day of abundance, nor have there only be or will there only be 21. There have been all those days since I had you as a mom. The day you first gave birth to me, or even nine months before then when I was first in your belly. Abundance started then. I was born into it, and by it, literally. And I am not going to waste it.

“I expect and accept abundance to flow easily to me.”

~ Deepak Chopra

Thanks for teaching me about Abundance, Mom, whether you knew it or not, right from Day 1 of my time here on earth.

Love Tas

 

 

 

 

Five years later feels like just yesterday

regrets-on-benchDear Mom,

I’ve been anticipating this date with so much dread and heaviness- February 10th. Exactly five years ago today, February 10th, 2015, you had fallen outside of your place and that eventually led to your passing away, a shock to all of us, including you, I am sure.

It breaks my heart everytime I think about it. And I know they say not to live in the past, but how can I not? That is where you were. And that is where I always want to be- with you. I think a part of me, a big part actually, is not here but either trying to find you or just gone whereve you are.

I break my heart over and over again thinking about what you might have done that morning, before your fall. I am so angry at the homecare worker who not only took you out for a walk to Shoppers Drug Mart to get some groceries, but who also made you walk back even though you said you were tired, wanted a cab, or even a bus, and she said, No, let’s just walk slowly back.

Mom, you hadn’t taken a bus for years and years. The fact that you asked for one- well, she should have realized that you weren’t able to make it home comfortably. That you needed a ride back. That you couldn’t walk more. It might have been a short walk for some people, but not for you- with your heart condition- and the osteoarthritis. I am sorry that I wasn’t more understanding about that myself on some days. I should have walked more slowly along side of you rather than skipping ahead, and I should have held your hand more.

But that day, I wonder about stupid questions. I don’t know if it is just to torture me and make me feel more guilty, or to just try to imagine myself being there with you and going through what you went through with you, as if that would somehow change things or make things better now. I imagine what you went to buy that day. I imagine what your plans were for later that day when you ended up in the hospital instead.

I wonder who the woman was that walked you and what happened when you fell. Did you trip over a step? Were you tired? And how did you hit your face and nose? And how could that stupid woman not have called an ambulance or reported the fall to her employer? That cannot be legal. That is not right! I am so angry still, after five years over this.

I want to see the couple who ended up walking by and finding you on the pavement bleeding, and who eventually called the ambulance for you. I want to meet the one out of the two of them- was it the man?- who let you rest your head in his lap while you waited for the ambulance. I wrote an article in the North Shore News asking if the people who helped you could come forward so I could personally thank them. I wrote the article after you passed away. I know you would have wanted to thank them.

Even though you hated hospitals, you were always so giving to strangers even there too. I remember how you wanted to buy a box of chocolates to give to the hospital staff while you were in the hospital. I was too worried and preoccupied to make it happen for you. I am sorry. I am sorry for so many things. The list goes on and on.

I am sorry that I wasn’t there with you that day when you fell. I am sorry I didn’t come to your place and drive you wherever you needed to go so that you wouldn’t have fallen. I am sorry that I didn’t stand up for you with the homecare woman and the whole company more after all of this to demand they do something about their total negligence. I did go to their office a couple of times to talk to the supervisors in a meeting they set up. But they blamed everything on my grief, on my emotional state. As if it was something I would get over and realize was not their doing.

But here I am five years later still angry as hell and so ashamed that I let the whole thing go. I know they were just scared because their big company’s reputation was on the line, so they through the blame on me and my grief. But I should have stuck in there with it more. I should have stood up for what I really believed. But I didn’t have anyone else on my side to back me up. I didn’t want money or to blame someone. I wanted justice enough to at least make sure this would never happen to someone else. I couldn’t bring you back, but maybe I could try to prevent another family from going through the same carelessness, and have the company take the situation more seriously. It was serious. You are gone. And I feel so ashamed, guilty, broken hearted and angry. I just didn’t know how to fight the fight on my own.

Mostly, I feel angry at myself. A friend of mine- a colleague I used to teach with- saw my article in the newspaper and reached out to me over Facebook to say she was sorry for my loss. And I eventully called the ambulance services and hospital to find out the names of the people who helped you get to the ambulance when the homecare person you were with didn’t. I seem to remember the ambulance service not wanting to give me full names or contact numbers of the couple who helped, probably just to respect their own privacy. So I never knew their full names or got to meet them in person. But the ambulance service assured me that they had passed on the message of eternal gratitude I wanted to send to them.

But I didn’t have the courage to do what I really wanted to- which was to fight for you and your rights. I know it is what I should have done. It was a lot to take on on my own. No one else seemed to see it like I did and I was scared to fight the fight on my own and try to go through the grief and shock I was feeling over losing you. But I know it would have been the right thing to do.

I am sorry that you ended up falling that day mom. I am sorry that you ended up in the hospital. I know you hated hospitals. I am sorry that things got worse, that you even ended up in the hospital over Valentine’s Day when there was a Valentine’s Day event you said that you were really sad not to have made it to.

I kind of hate Valentine’s Day now and these days leading up to it because of all that. Sometimes, I just see broken hearts everywhere on that day. How could I not when the person with the biggest heart, the person who brought me into this world and contributed the most to my loving heart, was scared, hurt, weakening, and in pain that day? How could I be excited about Valentine’s Day when you started getting even worse that day and I had no idea that that was going to be your last Valentine’s?

I think the homecare people who were not taking responsibility for their part in this thought that over time I would forget about it, that I let it go because it would become clear that it had nothing to do with them. Well, instead, the opposite is true. I am ashamed I didn’t stick with what I believe. And I am still angry at the awful way they handled, or really didn’t handle all of this. And you know what one of the worst things to live with is, Mom? Regret. I am full of regret over not going with what I believed was right and worth fighting for. It didn’t go away. It didn’t fade away.

I still feel like this all happened just yesterday. I remember every moment of it. I especially remember the things I didn’t do for you. It was like I was trying to make a million choices of things I thought would help- but I kept picking the wrong ones. And I thought there would be more time to explain and apologize once you got home. I just didn’t know that wouldn’t even be an option.

I am sorry, Mommy. I am sorry for not being there for you better. I am sorry that I made all these wrong decisions because I didn’t know how to juggle a bunch of things or I wasn’t clearly seeing what was most important, or because people were telling me I needed to go home and rest and that you would be fine. They were wrong. And I should not have listened to them. I should have stayed with you.

I wish there was some way I could fix it now. I wish that I could turn back time and turn things around. I still run through the scenarios in my head- of what I needed to do instead of what I did do. As if that could somehow magically undo what happened. I can’t change it. I can’t believe I am still telling myself this after five years. But I can’t help running things through my mind again and again. It doesn’t do anyone any good does it?Maybe I think I need to punish myself for my mistakes with you. But none of this brings you back or makes the past different. And that is something I have to live with somehow.

What would make it better, or what would help me let go of these regrets a little more, is if I knew you are okay now, that your spirit is soaring. I wish that you are now having beautiful Februaries with heavenly plans for Valentine’s Day that no one can ever take from you. I hope your heart and soul is filled with so much love and togetherness and peace and joy.

I hope that it is true that heaven can take care of you in ways that far surpass what we know here on earth. I wish the hearts in heaven are the most welcoming, beautiful, magical and healing and that they surround you and fill you with endless love.

 

Another Little Laila

little girl singing2Dear Mom,

I haven’t gone to the gym yet, which is what I’m really trying to get myself to get into the habit of doing more consistently. But what I have been doing consistently is practising singing. I love it.

Last week, I went to a karaoke night all ready to sing “for you” as usual. But I got the feeling you showed up for me there as well. At least I hope that’s what it was.

There was this little girl outside the restaurant, on the patio, sitting with her parents, I presume. She was so animated with her gestures. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, because they were on the other side of the glass windows and I was inside. But I smiled to myself, thinking of how she probably would have reminded you of your granddaughters. You were so entertained by your granddaughters’ antics- especially the rolling eyes, and big enthusiastic hand and arm gestures. And of course, the pointing fingers at her parents. You loved that kind of emphatic, excited way about kids, especially in your own grand kids.

I so wished you were there to see this. I was imagining the look on your face. I so wish you were there, that you are here, to see so many things unfold in the life you created in me, and your son, and your grand kids. And also in your larger family.

The happiness I felt for those moments, thinking about you as I watched this girl outside, kind of seemed to turn into sadness, of missing you.

I was watching the others sing, and being a little social where I was at. But I couldn’t veer my gaze too far from that little girl. I seemed to always be aware of where she was going, as if I was connected to her or knew her somehow.

She came in for bit, to take a peek at one of the singers inside. As she placed her palms of her hands under her chin, she rested her elbows on the corner of a table. She seemed pretty mesmerized by the singer on stage, or maybe by the whole concept of singing.

Dreamy. She seemed to be dreaming- maybe about that being her?

Her parents eventually came inside to join her. I think it was getting colder outside. And the karaoke host had tried to motion to the woman and her daughter that it was their turn to go up next to sing. It turns out that the little girl had put in a song earlier, but now it seemed that she was too shy to go up and sing it.

When I asked the girl which song it was that she would have liked to sing, she said something about girl on fire. I didn’t put the title together with songs I knew, because I figured that since she is five (her mother told me her age), that she was talking about a more young girl’s song.

It turns out it wasn’t so young girl. It was the Beyonce song This Girl is On Fire. I told her it was a good choice. And then I could have sworn I hear the girl’s mom say your name. Laila. As usual, I thought I must have heard her wrong. You know, that wishful thinking of always wanting to hear your name, feel it as a sign that you are nearby, and then sometimes realizing that it wasn’t what was said.

“What is your daughter’s name?” I asked her mom.

“Laila,” she said. I had to fight back the tears. I know my eyes looked upwards and back behind me, or at least to the side of me. I had to look away. I tend to do this more lately when I get emotional and don’t want to overwhelm the people or person in front of me with it.

But I looked back at girl’s mom and said, “My mom’s name was Laila. (Sorry, I should have said it IS Laila). She passed away four years ago.”

The woman looked sorry to hear that. But I said, “No, no. I see this as a sign. That your daughter’s name is Laila. It makes me feel like my mom is here somehow with me, at this very moment.”

“Maybe that’s why you had a connection with my daughter. Why you noticed her.”

Yes, exactly. Maybe.

I offered to sing the This Girl is On Fire song with that little girl. Her mom even tried to convince her to sing it with me. But she was really shy and said no.

I left it alone at that point.

The part that got stranger was that not long after, this young Ismaili guy, funny enough, sitting at the back booth got up to sing a song with this other girl- she was probably in her 20’s. He looked over at me when he got on the stage with her and said, “Could you be her backup? I don’t know this song really.”

I was confused, and didn’t even know what song he was talking about or whether I would even know it.  But he handed me the mic and then I looked up and the song had started.

“She’s just a girl and she’s on fire…”

It was This Girl Is on Fire. I was so shocked. I knew the song, and wanted to sing it, but it was Little Laila’s song. I wanted her to come up and sing it. I tried to motion to the DJ to let him know this was the song the little girl wanted to sing. He tried handing her a third mic. She wasn’t taking it. I walked as far down off the stage with my chorded mic to get the little girl to sing with me. But she wouldn’t.

I sang the rest of the song with the girl who was already on stage and had chosen the song. But all the while, I was thinking what are the chances? Of THAT song being the choice? And that I just happened to ask the little girl which song she would have chosen? And that her name was Laila? This can’t all be coincidence.

I felt badly because I didn’t want the little girl to think that I “stole” her song. That I chose it after she told me she wanted to sing it. I would never have done that. I would have put the song in to see if she would want to sing it. I hope she understood that I didn’t even know that that song was going to be chosen by someone else. I had nothing to do with it.

But did you, Mom?

Did you plant a little Laila in that karaoke place, for me to connect to?

I ask these questions often, trying to be hopeful. And then another part of me sinks down thinking that this is just another way for the universe to remind that you’re gone. And that I didn’t do all I could to help you have the best life you could have. That I was not the best daughter I could have been. That is not the attitude I want to take. So I am going to revert to the hope that this was you, bringing another little innocent Laila into my path, to tell me you are always there with me.

I love you, Mom. And I love your name. You and it are forever beautiful. Always in my heart, the name at the tip of my tongue, and its sound resonating all around me.

Layla by Eric Clapton

Hi Mom,

 

I was talking to someone about you a couple of weeks ago near my place. I think I was saying the usual broken record stuff about how I’m not sure that I feel you. I don’t know if the signs are you. I don’t know if you are okay. (Yeah, I am still on that track. Sorry. It’s hard though, you know).

But then I walk into Shoppers Drug Mart just after that talk, and as I am walking in, I must have sort of in the back of my head asked you or the universe if you are okay, and guess which song came on?

Layla, by Eric Clapton. So as far as I know, you did not know of Clapton or that song when you were here physically. It doesn’t seem like your kind of music. Haha. But… it’s the only song I am aware of that has the name Laila or Layla in it that could possible be played in a store like that. Though, it would have been awesome if Laila oh Laila the Hindi Bollywood song came on. That would have freaked me out, but in a really great way. Can you make things like that happen?

Anyway, I smiled. I mean, I really, really smiled, because I got another little taste of this feeling of happiness, hope, possible peace and relief that maybe that was from you.  I don’t know. I should know though, right? I mean, should I just believe without a doubt, and feel and hang onto that emotion until my mind and body believe without a doubt?

I’ve been reading a book about this- You Are the Placebo- by Dr. Joe Dispenza. It’s about how when we align our emotions to a future event or occurrence that we want to have happen, our body thinks it is already happening, so it makes the shift as if it is in that future. That is the placebo without a placebo pill. We can create that in our own bodies, says this doctor. I believe that to such a deep extent medically. Though in your case, when you were in the hospital, I feel like you weren’t given a chance to do this. How can that work when you are sedated and can’t see, hear or talk? That just kills me inside. That thought.

But I need to stop focusing on that thought, and put myself in the emotion and thought that you are still with me. That you are giving me signs along the way. And hopefully, you are getting a little frustrated with me not fully believing, but in a funny way. I am trying to believe mom.

The lines in the Clapton song that seemed so fitting are:

“Layla, you got me on my knees Layla. I’m begging darling please, Laila. Darling won’t you ease my wary mind.”

It’s the wary mind I’m trying to sort out. My own, that is.

I walked to the post office connected to Shoppers just as the song was ending.  I was there making photocopies of some passages from another book I was reading at that time- Through My Eyes, by Gordon Smith.  Here I was- with the proof in my hands- from the words of this Medium. Exactly what I wanted confirmation of, he gives in his book. That there is life after death, that we don’t really die, and that souls speak to one another. That our loved ones are okay and they are speaking to us without words.

I ended up telling the lady working at the post office about the Clapton song and about you. And she was in tears. She ended up sharing with me that her mom passed away, and she too misses her very much. For all the times I went into that post office, I never knew any of this about this woman. Thank you for connecting us. Can you do that too? Connect me to people who can either help me or I can help them in some way? I always wonder about that.

I told the woman about the book I had with me, and I left her a copy of one of the first stories in it.

She told me that there is a woman who comes to the post office on and off who seems to be clairvoyant or is it clairsencient?  Anyway, supposedly, she passed on some messages to the lady at the post office that were quite accurate. This clairvoyant woman also said that there are many spirits in the building where Shoppers is located, specifically in the post office and down at the other end of the complex where there is a big dollar shop. It used to be a movie theater. I remember that theater, actually.

But yeah, it didn’t sound spooky or haunted or ridiculous what she said. It actually made me feel hopeful, and curious about which spirits around us and where. And I like the idea that those souls who have passed away can still be looking out for us. And that maybe they have particular favorite spots they like to hang out it. Haha.

It gives me a picture of their lightness, their playfulness, their carefree and happy nature. Their peace and their everlasting love and energy.

I want to feel that from you. That you are happy, free, at peace, and having the time of your… well, after-life. 🙂

Love you, Mom, forever and ever.

Laila, oh Leila, Layla

Laila1Dear Mom,

Besides latching onto hearing your name called out in a cemetery as a sign that you’re okay, I also have been following your name around in terms of other types of signs.

The first one I remember is when I was apartment hunting. After you passed away, just after actually, I needed to look for a new place to live because my previous roommate was selling the place I was living in.

I didn’t know whether I was going to stay in North Vancouver or move to some other area. All I knew is that I was feeling lost. You had just passed away. I was devastated (and some would say I still am after four years). But I was in shock of a different kind back then, and I had to move, and I didn’t know how I was going to afford paying for just a room in a shared place (which I was getting an amazing deal for) compared to living in my own place somewhere else.

I was pretty certain I could not live with roommates anymore, mostly because I needed to do my own grieving, healing and just be allowed to be sad without worrying that someone around me would be brought down by it. I needed to be on my own and figure out… well,  my life. I didn’t know how to live it without you and frankly, I still don’t. But I just take each day as it comes.

Anyway, I was looking in the paper or on craigslist- I can’t even remember- for apartments.

And then I was also just driving around to see what was available.

I ended up being really drawn to this apartment for rent in the Joyce Station area. It’s not even a spot that I would have thought of before. But firstly, the rent was way more reasonable than any of the other places I was looking at, the place seemed pretty decent from what I heard and saw in the pictures and from the person renting it out. But mostly, what made me think that this is the place I needed to move into was that the girl who was currently in it- who was advertising it- her name was Laila. I can’t remember if she spelled it the same way your name was spelled or if it was with an e. I think it was Laila. Same as yours.

Laila ShirtAnd so of course, a big part of me was hoping that this was somehow ordained by you. So not only was I being led to the apartment that I needed to find, but I also was maybe getting a sign that you are always with me, and that you are so okay and well and happy, that you were already helping me find the right place for me to move into.

Well, that apartment didn’t work out for me. I actually really liked it. It was really cute, and I ended up meeting that Laila. She was a sweet, beautiful young girl. Her and her boyfriend were moving out together into a bigger place. I told her the story of how and why I was drawn to her apartment, and her name. She seemed to empathize with me and hoped that I would get the apartment.

The choice wasn’t up to her. I guess it was the manager’s decision and it turned out that there were a few other people on the list of potential tenants before me. Someone else got chosen for that place.

Though it would have been less costly to stay there, I ended up choosing the place I am in now instead. It is in an area that I love, and is probably safer and allows me more interaction with people and freedom to sing in my apartment (which has somehow become a huge part of my life these days).

The place near Joyce Station would have been way more affordable, but maybe not in the long run since it is further out from the center of town. Mostly, I liked the association with your name at that time and I somehow thought I was losing not only the opportunity to stay there, but also the hope that you had something to do with it. I wanted to believe that your name and you led me there.

But my current place is owned by Ismailis, and is so close to the first elementary school I went to, and to the area where we grew up in the first few years of my life. In that sense, it brings me back to you, and connects me to childhood memories or surroundings that I think I may have otherwise had forgotten.

Though there isn’t a particular Laila in this building that I know of, I would still like to think that you somehow led me here. This place brings me peace. I have helpful and kind neighbors.  I feel a lot of freedom and security here. The tree lined streets, quaint coffee shops, convenient grocery and drugstores, and a reminder of where i came from surrounds me. A reminder of the “simple” life, living with you growing up here, and having had a mom who raised me without having much herself.

I don’t know how you did it, Mom.

But I am grateful for it and you every day. And Laila is still the name that rings in my heart always. I pick up on it in all its forms and spellings, but especially the “ai” version. Sometimes, I see it in books- as a name of an author or character. Other times, it’s on advertisements for performances- especially middle eastern dance or music. And sometimes, I just keep my ears open for the name in case the wind whispers it in my ear to tell me you are near. Laila. It is such a beautiful name.

LailaShirt3

I miss you, Mom. I miss you so much.

 

On Mother’s Day

20190512_173309.jpgDear Mom,

This year, on Mother’s Day, I felt like I was procrastinating so much on what I had planned to do, which was to go to the cemetery and visit your grave stone. I wanted to get up, just eat some breakfast, buy some flowers, and head out as soon as I could, to spend the day “with you” or “for you.”

I showered and ate, but ended up puttering around getting things “done” that were so not important that I don’t even remember anymore what they were.

And I got really mad at myself about this. It felt the same way that I felt when you were here and I would tell you that I was going to come and see you or I had planned to do something for you. I just could never get around to doing it as soon as I wanted, or to be on time, or to get things done as well as I wanted for you.

And I think I have almost hated myself for that. I mean, you were and still are the most important person to me in my life. Yet, I would “put you off” sometimes without ever meaning to and I don’t really know why or how that would happen. I would give you a time I was going to come and see you, and then be super late. I would finally get to your place, and not be as attentive as I wanted to to your needs. Or I would be attentive but things would fall apart, and not go as I had hoped. None of this was your doing. I just couldn’t seem to get things together and I could never figure out why. You should have always come first. You were first in my heart but it didn’t always come out that way in my deeds. And I keep wanting to apologise so profusely for that. I am sorry, Mom.

And then here I was, doing it again, even after you have passed away. I just couldn’t seem to get myself together to get to the cemetery “on time.”

Things kept happening to “get in the way”, or maybe I was letting things get in the way, I thought.

But then again, sometimes, timing is a funny thing. Maybe it really isn’t all in our hands, and sometimes, that might be a good thing. Like maybe God or the Universe has a whole other agenda of timing set out for us, to have us encounter other “unplanned” things, uplanned by us at least. But maybe the plan is all set out by a greater force that knows way better what he is doing, and way better what is good for us.

This is what I mean:

I was getting side tracked. Looking for the ”perfect” flower, gearing myself up for the right mood. I even said yes to an acquaintance who I ran into in the little grocery story mall down the street from my place. She asked if she could bring over a candle she made for me to use in memory of you, when she heard that I was heading to the cemetery.

Her daughter was sick, and she was getting some soup for her. But her eyes became all watery when I told her about you. I didn’t realize she had also lost her mom. And she sounded like she felt a little guilty for not bringing flowers to her mother’s grave stone.

We both wallowed in our guilt for a bit while also trying to get each other to see the other side of things. Me assuring her that she had her own daughter to take care of and her mother would have wanted her to do that. And her trying to remind me that my mom would want me to take care of myself and would appreciate my efforts. I still felt guilty.

And I didn’t know if I should feel worse for delaying the time I would get to the cemetery even more now because I would go home and wait for this acquaintance to come by after she saw to her daughter.  It was a sweet gesture though. And as I walked to my place, I thought that I should give her something too. That’s what you would have done. So I gave her this sweet little illustrated book on grief therapy that Renee had given me just after you passed way. A colleague of hers gave it to her to pass on to me. So here I was planning to pass it on as well.

We exchanged our little gifts just outside my place, and then I finally set out to “meet you.” Or,  you know what I mean. To bring you the yellow roses I picked out for you, and the cute little yellow flowered plant I was hoping to put on Mama’s grave too.

My drive there was a bit longer because later in the day, the traffic was busier. But it was a beautiful day. Warm and sunny. So opposite to the last time I had been to the cemetery when the snow hadn’t melted and I couldn’t find your grave stone. And then I fell and bruised and scraped my knee and ripped my jeans. Did I tell you about that? It’s okay. Maybe I’ll save it for another time, or maybe it’s not important anymore.

Maybe it was just the contrast that was and is important now. On Mother’s Day, it kind of felt “heavenly” at the cemetery. By the time I had gotten there, many people must have already visited their mother’s gravestones earlier, because the cemetery just looked much more full of colourful, vibrant, newly placed flowers. And noticed that many of them were yellow- yours, Mama’s and my favorite colour.

I spoke to you at your gravestone for a bit. I might have even planted myself there for a short time. But I couldn’t sit still. I was crying through my words, asking if you could please give me a really clear sign that you are okay. I also was apologizing for being late, not just that day but for any days that I made you wait, including when you were in the hospital and I didn’t come out there right away every day. And I was sorry if you had already given me signs and I just wasn’t believing in them or missing them.

20190512_173431.jpgI looked around and felt around. I think I might have seen some crows and other birds come by. The little stream of water area near your gravestone was flowing again now, and the tree above it had grown vibrant  leaves again. It looked alive and happy. I could only hope that you have that kind of happy and peacefulness in you now too. But I still didn’t know. I laid down the yellow roses at an angle across the top part of your grave.

And then I got into the car and drove to where I learned from last time was Mama’s gravestone. Yours is in Brookside and Mama’s is further down in Benediction. In case any family members read this years later, Mama’s is 11 spots down from the Creekside Mausoleum buildings (11 spots east of those buildings. Of course it’s exactly 11 spots in. That lucky, magical number). And it is about 14 spots North from the Meadows area, I think.

Anyway, I finally found it and had the pot of flowers to put on it. And I decided to speak to Mama. I thanked her for all she did for us. At least that was what I was thinking about. But more than that, I thanked her for you. For having you, and for giving me the best mom ever. Of course, I know you had the best mom too, and I had the best grandma. 🙂

But then I reminded her that I have felt her presence over the years since she passed away. Somehow, I believe in her peace. Maybe because I knew her for less time, or maybe because it has been so long that over time, the signs were just more “felt” somehow. But I told her I was still worried about you and I needed a big, BIG sign that you were okay.

I am sure I was crying, again, through my words.

i just stood there, and maybe ended up looking around, “aimlessly”.  And then I heard someone yell out, “Laila, what are you doing? Laila, come back here.” I looked around. There was a huge Arab looking family behind me but off in the distance. They were in the Benediction part of the cemetery but not very close.

There was a little girl running around between the space where I was and the area where the family of around 10 people or more were standing.

Girl in grass3

I couldn’t believe that of all names, it was your name again that came up. And you know why I say again, right?

There was another time, a couple of years ago at least, when I went to the cemetery to visit your gravestone. And in another area, closer to where your grave is, on the way there, I saw a small family of about 4 people sitting on a beach type mat, on their loved ones grave stone. They looked like they were having a picnic, and were eating “with” their loved one who was no longer with them physically. But they made that person a part of their sitting in a way.

There was a smaller little girl with them at the time. And she was just make circles around them. I know that they definitely called out Laila to her. I was closer to where they stood than this other bigger family. So back then, I heard clearly that the little girl was named Laila. But I dismissed it as coincidence back then. I also almost took it in as a sad sign- a reminder that you were once a little Laila yourself, a little child. And that broke my heart thinking of how that child needed to be honored more, empathized with more, and so did you the adult Laila need more support and love and kindness.

But for it to happen again? Your name being called out again, of all names, for the second time, while I was at the cemetery asking for a sign? That seemed unbelievable. It couldn’t be coincidence.

Maybe I just wanted it to be true? Maybe I just made myself hear YOUR name in particular, because I wanted a sign? I was kind of far from the older girl who was yelling out to this little girl. So it was possible I heard the name incorrectly.

The big family was still standing around. And the little girl was still running around so I moved in closer to them, pretending to want to find another grave stone.

I got close enough to know that this time, when or if I heard the name being called, I would be able to hear it clearly.

And sure enough, the older girl yelled out what I think was her sister’s name, as the family were starting to move towards the car and head out.
“Laila! Laila! Come on. Let’s go!”

And I looked back at Mama’s gravestone and smiled through tears and thanked her. I said, if that was your doing, and that was my sign from you, thank you.

20190512_173309.jpg

It was so beautiful the way this little Laila was running around so freely with her long dark hair flowing in the wind, and her little brown booties twirling her around as if the cemetery was not a place of dying but a playground of magic and joy.

I hoped and hope that that is the freedom and joy and playfulness that you get to experience now.

I did go back to your gravestone, and I told you about this whole situation. I thanked you if that was your sign, and apologized if I am dismissing too many signs and frustrating you over it.

I can’t tell. Maybe I just needed your mother’s help to make me see things clearly, or clearer, because my tie to you is so strong and so deeply emotional. Maybe it blurs my ability to make space and see and feel fully your messages.

And maybe, just maybe, this time, I was not exactly too late. Maybe I was just in time… and all those instances that happened before I actually headed to the cemetery were put in my path intentionally. Because perhaps if I had gotten there any earlier or later, I would have missed little Laila, my sign from you and Mama, that my Laila is doing just fine.

Maybe. I can only hope, and wish, and pray. That’s what I do every day.

Love you, Mom. I hope you liked the yellow roses.

Was that you?

hopingDear Mom,

Although for these four years, I keep praying and asking for you to give me a sign that you’re okay, I wonder how to know when the sign has already appeared. What if I just ‘missed’ it?

I’m thinking in particular about what other people might have viewed as a very ‘clear message’ I received a few years ago, not long after you passed away. I just didn’t know whether to believe it. It seemed ‘too’ clear.

I walked into the store Utopia on Lonsdale.

I was looking for something. I wasn’t sure what. A book, a crystal? Something to provide me with a little help in finding peace. Peace over your passing. Peace to feel that you are okay. Peace to feel that I could figure out how to live ‘without’ you, physically, but more importantly, how to make sure to keep you with me, to make sure you are protected and safe.

I wanted to keep us both safe. You from this new space you were or are in, that I don’t know anything about. And me from my grief of losing you and worrying about you. I felt and feel so helpless in trying to connect to you.

It’s a question of faith, I know. But my faith has totally been shaken since you passed away. I wasn’t like that before. I believed so much more in ‘everything happens for a reason’. Nothing made sense though once you were gone, not even all that happened in the few days leading up to it.  It still doesn’t make sense. Where’s the reasoning in that?

That day when I was at Utopia, I was looking to regain some semblance of belief. I must have looked lost in that store. I felt it. But something drew me to a bunch of boxes of tarot cards on a shelf at the back. I remember Michelle had given me a pack  of Ascended Masters cards which made me curious about that whole world a few years back. It seemed interesting and made me wonder at the time. But I couldn’t have told you what I believed about all of that. I don’t really know. It didn’t seem to matter back then anyway.

Before you passed away, I wasn’t as concerned about whether spirit and heavenly connections were real or not.  The idea just kind of came and went in my mind as something possible, but I wasn’t sure.

But now I need real reassurance. See, I can play around with my own belief. But I need something more concrete for you. I always want real assurance when it comes to you.

I remember one of the ladies in the shop saying that the Messages From Heaven pack might be something that could help me. She said that she actually had a pack that was already opened, so I could take a look at it.

Instead of me going through the cards myself, I think she just asked me to ask the universe a question.  I didn’t ask it out loud, but I didn’t need to even think about it. The question that is always at the front of my mind, at the back of my mind, and deep within my heart- the question that always sits there waiting endlessly for an answer- was the one of course that I thought of.

wishing2“Are you okay, Mom?”

I picked a card out, ‘randomly’, without being able to see what the message was. And I flipped it over, or maybe the woman in front of  me did, and I looked, not expecting much.  But it said: I AM SO MUCH BETTER NOW

I think I might have held my breath as I read that.  I was kind of in disbelief. And wanted to cry so much. It may have been held in my throat- the relief, the hope, the surprise at how accurate that card was. Could it be true? Was it really you speaking to me?

I don’t even remember reading or finding out the details that were written about that card in the guidebook for the deck. I am not even sure if I knew that there was one. It’s like I didn’t want to know because it seemed like someone was playing a trick on me. A cruel one.

I might have said something to the woman about it, or maybe I didn’t. I was confused about what was real and what wasn’t. I still am.  Like… did that just happen? I didn’t buy the card deck or look at the rest of the cards in it.  I convinced myself that it was too much of a coincidence. That all the other cards in that deck must say similar things. Of course they do, because they are supposed to be consoling messages from heaven for people like me who are grieving and looking for relief.

It must have been nothing, I thought, even though I wanted it to be something, to be THE thing, and the first of a series of many somethings that would take away my pain, sorrow, worry, grief.  The somethings that would take away your pain, sorrow and grief.  The something that would make me KNOW that my Mom is okay.

But I left feeling defeated. Even after hearing exactly what I wanted to hear or read or see- the exact answer I would have hoped was true- I decided that how could it be? How could it be that easy? Even the message that I wanted to hear couldn’t console me because it was too perfect.

It didn’t come from you. I mean, I didn’t see it coming from your lips or your voice or your hands or heart.  I needed proof that it was true. And so I left unsure, scared, wondering how I would get through any of this, and realizing that no one could help me. If even the very message I wanted to hear, without even realizing it was what I wanted to hear, couldn’t console me, then nothing could, right?

But somewhere in the back of my head, I must have stored the memory of that card, and that moment- the moment when I had a little what if sense of hope show up in my heart. Hope that what if there was some truth to it?  But I was hesitant and thought I was just feeding my mind with too much dreaminess, and a lot of wishful thinking, rather than anything that could be real. So I ‘left’ it.

Until, … maybe a year later? I am not sure of the timing. But it was a long time after, when the very same card showed up for me again, ‘out of nowhere.’

I was at a workshop about writing.  I was excited and inspired at first, but very quickly realized that the speaker was just money hungry. He was doing everything to make more money, without much regard or appreciation for the art of writing. Everything was focused on materialism- from his presentation about how his new business got him his own private jet, to his pushing young students to invest thousands of dollars in him regardless of whether they even had enough money for food or a roof over their head.  I felt like he was preying on the vulnerabilities of those just looking for inspiration and a change in their lives.  He didn’t seem to care genuinely about the messages that these people were actually wanting to share in their writing and books. He only cared about his sales, his fame and how much he or we could buy with it after.

wishing3It was when this woman – a participant in the workshop- said, “But I want to write books that people actually want to read,” that made me realize how ridiculous the workshop was. The woman said out loud what I was thinking all along. I mean, that should be a given right?- to want to write books that people want to read. How could someone not understand that? But she too could feel that the attention was being taken off of the most meaningful parts of writing- the message, the inspiration, the teaching.

The workshop was lacking in depth and soul and integrity. The speaker’s total lack of integrity was just turning me off.  I felt like I was wasting my time in this room, and you know how much I hate wasting time.

So I was trying to find something good that could come from it, the real reason I was there. There had to have been something, or at least I was going to try to convince myself of it.  Otherwise, I was going to feel so foolish for buying into this total sales-pitchy, manipulative approach of this speaker, who was frankly getting on my nerves. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for his lack of understanding of what is really important in life, or to be angry at him for thinking we would be gullible enough to get swept up into his world.

There was one thing that made me feel better.  A guy.  At the workshop. He was very different from anyone else, not just anyone at the workshop, but anyone who I would have normally met or spoken with.  He was quirky. Okay, so I actually do like quirky guys. But, he was quirky in a different way. He believed in numerology. He noticed numbers everywhere and added up digits, and saw significance in all the numbers- addresses, receipts, phone numbers. And he wore these big rings on his fingers, and interesting crystals around his neck.  He believed in natural healing and in the power of the universe.  I found myself drawn to him, not knowing exactly why at the time. But now I see it: I needed to ‘rebelieve’ in all of this again. In the workings of the universe. In the ‘everything happens for a reason’ way of thinking and feeling.

And this guy was a HUGE believer in synchronicities of numbers and people. It was like there was no question in his mind about it.

Maybe this guy was planted in that workshop as a reminder for me to rebuild my faith in the magical workings of the universe again.

Maybe. So I spent more time with him. We had lunch outside of the workshop and he showed me a few tricks on Ableton, the new music recording program I was trying to learn but was intimidated by. I didn’t know where to start. This guy got me started just by showing me how he would play with it and create his own sounds and beats. He made me see the fun and creative part in it. The exploring. I needed to learn to explore again.

He was playful, and reminded me to be too. I smiled at how he sat on the floor of the Indigo Book store we went into one afternoon.  He just sat there, cross legged in the middle of an aisle of books. He was childlike in that way, all 6 foot, 30-something years old and shaved head of him.  The books he got all curious about had to do with healing and spirit and energies.  He didn’t seem to really care about what other people thought of him. He didn’t seem to have any doubts in the healing from these more natural modalities.  I was dumbfounded and kind of envious by how it was just an absolute to him.

His curiosity for learning and about the universe kept me open to this part of me that used to be more present a few years ago. And I wanted to open it up more. I wanted to believe again, and to bring that part of me back.

He led us to the healing, metaphysics section because he must have wanted to look up something specific in that area. However, I think the universe purposely pulled me in there and used this guy as a vehicle to get me there. There was something I didn’t even know I was needing to look at again.  Oracle cards. They were right there in front of me where this guy had stopped. It didn’t take long for my eyes to go straight to the one labeled Messages From Heaven.  I pulled it out and realized it was the pack of cards I had seen at Utopia over a year or more before.

I knew that I would disappoint myself in looking through all the messages on the cards. I was sure they would all be the same, or similar, to that one card I had picked out at Utopia long before then. But just to humour myself, maybe, I shoved the deck and fanned the cards out again, as the lady at Utopia had taught me to do.

I asked a question in my head: “Are you okay, Mom?” and I thought about the tear stains that I remember on your face in the ICU, how you couldn’t speak or open or move your eyes, and I had no idea what was going on with you. I didn’t know if you were hurt-emotionally, physically, or scared. I didn’t know what it felt like when you were sedated, when the blood clot formed in your intestines, or when you passed away. I was and still am haunted by what you may have gone through. And I wish I had done more to help you.

Without looking at the faces of the cards, I picked one out.

This is what It said:

“My death was painless. Please don’t worry or hold onto guilt.”

 

I gasped again. I don’t know if the guy I was with saw or felt the shock in my face or my energy. I might have tried to hide my emotions. But actually, he was probably a good person to have around me at that time, because of his beliefs about spirit and the universe.  I felt tears of relief and hope at first, in seeing the card’s message. But then I got angry,. I thought why is the universe or life toying with me? All the cards must say the same kind of thing This is just a way, as humans, that we pretend to appease ourselves, ignorantly thinking that our loved ones is really in a better place. How do we know? How does anyone know? I was sure that all the messages must just be generally the same.

I decided to look through the rest of the cards.

I looked and looked and looked through the deck, and to my surprise, the messages were actually all very different. Yes, they were all about grief and healing. But they didn’t speak about the same aspect of death or healing or heaven as the card I had picked out. None of the other cards spoke so directly to my question as the card I picked out.

I also realized that I couldn’t find the card that I picked out at Utopia a year or more before then. Maybe it’s NOT the same deck, I thought? I was kind of confused. But I couldn’t find the card I had picked a year or more ago. It didn’t seem to be in the deck. I thought, I can’t remember exactly what it said. Maybe I made it up? Or maybe this isn’t even the same deck.

Somehow, the guy I was with had the idea that he should pick out a card from the deck. He shuffled the cards thoroughly. I seem to remember his big silver and black rings and the cards moving methodically to recalebrate the deck to match his energy.

And again, with the faces of the cards hidden from his sight, he picked out a card. He flips it over and…

It was my card. Or your card. Or … it was that card I had picked out a year or more ago in Utopia. It was the card I couldn’t find in the deck just a few seconds before when I swear I went through the whole deck. I never told him I was looking for a card. But he picked THE one.

“I am so much better now.”

I don’t know why I couldn’t find it when I first looked.  Maybe I needed someone else to pick it and find it, so the universe could show me that if I don’t trust in myself to choose the right answer, if I don’t believe in the answers when they come up with my pick, then the universe was going to show me through someone else’s ‘choice.’

Could I believe in it now? Should I? The card was picked again, almost two years after the first time. And this guy who was so consciously connected to spirituality, healing, crystals, and faith in the powers of the universe was the one who picked it, ‘randomly’, for me I think, more than for him.

And this time, I definitely read the guide book descriptions for each of the two cards that were picked.  They were exactly what I needed to hear.

Were the messages from you? Or was it just a very crazy coincidence, that happened twice?

More importantly, are you really okay? Was it really painless?

Can you feel it when I ask you questions? Can we still speak to each other crossing heaven and earth?

I so want to believe we can. I can’t live without my mother’s spirit and strength and advice and love. Maybe that in itself should be proof that you are here- that I’m still able to live. I don’t know. But I’m trying to open up to that wonderful possibility.

I want my mother to be happy, at peace, pain free, carefree, loved and with me always.