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Did I give birth to an unicorn? Or three easy steps to become a guru
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 664745" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>Copa, could it be that the Child in you is very sure she is guilty that something really bad happened to Mama while Copa was caring for her? </p><p></p><p>If she is trapped in the Realm of the Magical Child, she may not know Copa, that you are not guilty/responsible for what happened to Mama.</p><p></p><p>I hear a child's promise of anything, of whatever it costs, for Mama to come back <em>on her terms, this time.</em></p><p></p><p>Even that.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>You will come through this, Copa. The Child's voice is coming more and more often to the surface. </p><p></p><p>It was your mother's time, Copa. If we are born, then there will come a day when we die. No one is exempt, Copa. Deep in our mother's hearts, they do love their children. Even, and maybe especially, me. Even, and maybe especially, you Copa. If they could do it, our mothers too would have been the mothers we needed <em>and the mothers they believed, with all their hearts, they would be.</em> </p><p></p><p>They couldn't give us what they didn't have, Copa.</p><p></p><p>They did what they did, instead.</p><p></p><p>My mother would cry sometimes, about what a bad mother she was. That was her word: bad mother. So, I felt guilty about that, too.</p><p></p><p>For heaven's sake. Thanks, mom.</p><p></p><p>roar</p><p></p><p>Back to you, Copa.</p><p></p><p>There was nothing left undone, in your care of your mother; there is nothing, nothing at all, you did not do for her. You gave her every care; you were with her in her final moments, were right there with her. </p><p></p><p>You loved her out of life. She was not alone.</p><p></p><p>So many die alone, Copa.</p><p></p><p>You gave your mother every care.</p><p></p><p>You did.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Only frozen, Copa. Only sleeping; only Sleeping Beauty, wakening even now.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>What will your mother win, Copa? </p><p></p><p>I urge you again to consider the guilt of a little girl, that little Child within, <em>retraumatized, horribly retraumatized, at the instant of the mother's passing and over those first terrible moments of realization that Mama was gone. </em></p><p></p><p>It was already reawakening old trauma Copa. Everything in the months before that final time was traumatic. All of it, from the hospital with your sister, just to see her again at all, to her cornering the doctor outside the room to the way she arrogantly and openly displayed contempt for you, and for the man who loves you. <em>These things were done on purpose, Copa. They were not accidents. They were acts of malicious intent. Our sisters hate and despise the men who love us because they do love us. </em>All of that Copa, compressed into minutes and then, the fight afterword, the nursing home, the screaming, the automaton-like service to your mother.</p><p></p><p>The constant stream of decisions. The ever-increasing guilt at whatever decision was made.</p><p></p><p>To be present in those final moments when your mother, beloved, feared, cherished...passed. You have posted about that moment again and again. As we have learned with the traumatic events that happen with our kids, new trauma rekindles the old, the conflagration this time a thousand times more destructive.</p><p></p><p>And then, what is happening with your son, and between you and your son.</p><p></p><p>Trauma upon trauma upon trauma.</p><p></p><p>And always, life and death decisions to be made, and no one, no one in all the world, to make them but you.</p><p></p><p>But Copa what you don't understand is that you handle everything that matters, <em>everything that mattered then and everything that matters now, where your son is concerned, or your property or with M or with physical therapy </em>beautifully, perfectly.</p><p></p><p>Gracefully, and with strength and flexibility Copa, and compassion.</p><p></p><p>You are coming through it, Copa. There is just so very, very much ~ so many hurtful things, to come through. </p><p></p><p>As you travel Copa, know we are holding you in our thoughts and will be here, should you need our strength, or our humor or concern or whatever we can give to or share with or witness for, you when you return.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Trust, Copa.</p><p></p><p>For me, the part I cut off in relation to my mom was and is, trust. And I posted earlier on this thread that <em>at the age of eighty, </em>my mother pretended she would strike me<em>.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p>And laughed.</p><p></p><p>I was very correct to have never relaxed in my mother's presence. That cannot have been an easy lesson for a little girl, a young woman, a new mother, to learn. </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>What is happening to me is that I see the habits I've formed ~ ways of seeing, ways of responding, and choose a new way. I choose a new way now Copa in so many things, small and large, that was not possible for me, before. It is like I saw myself performing my life before. I was continually judging every move, every response. Now, I am here. More here, anyway. It is like the Buddhists say: See all things around you and yourself in the center and then? </p><p></p><p>Disappear.</p><p></p><p>That is presence. That is where we are going, Copa. Presence in our own lives, in everything we do, from listening to music to feeling the sun on our faces.</p><p></p><p>Time seems like a limitless, flexible thing to me, now.</p><p></p><p>Isn't that something.</p><p></p><p>I must carry less anxiety, now.</p><p></p><p>?</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>That's okay, Copa.</p><p></p><p>We want what we want. It doesn't have to make sense. I am wondering though whether a memorial of some kind ~ like they have for ancestors in Oriental homes. Or...D H mom had a special piece of furniture in her bedroom next to her bed where she kept portraits of her mother, of her sister who died, of the daughter who died at seventeen. And then, when her husband died, his picture went onto the wall above the table. Another daughter died recently, and her picture was placed there. Every night, D H mom lit candles ~ one for each of the people she loved.</p><p></p><p>They are not dinner candles, but those little candles you see in Catholic churches, lit in memory of those we loved, and in faith.</p><p></p><p>She cannot do it now, in the nursing home where she is. The pictures are there on the wall across from her bed, but there are no candles. I wonder whether it would comfort her if we were to find candles operated by solar power.</p><p></p><p>I will check into something like that for her. When we came home this year, we brought her the prettiest stained glass butterflies with suction cups on the bottom. You put them on the window glass, where they absorb the sunshine all day. There are solar batteries inside them and at night, the beautiful butterflies shine with the softest light imaginable. </p><p></p><p>It could be that there are candles like that.</p><p></p><p>D H mom would like that very much, I think.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 664745, member: 17461"] Copa, could it be that the Child in you is very sure she is guilty that something really bad happened to Mama while Copa was caring for her? If she is trapped in the Realm of the Magical Child, she may not know Copa, that you are not guilty/responsible for what happened to Mama. I hear a child's promise of anything, of whatever it costs, for Mama to come back [I]on her terms, this time.[/I] Even that. You will come through this, Copa. The Child's voice is coming more and more often to the surface. It was your mother's time, Copa. If we are born, then there will come a day when we die. No one is exempt, Copa. Deep in our mother's hearts, they do love their children. Even, and maybe especially, me. Even, and maybe especially, you Copa. If they could do it, our mothers too would have been the mothers we needed [I]and the mothers they believed, with all their hearts, they would be.[/I] They couldn't give us what they didn't have, Copa. They did what they did, instead. My mother would cry sometimes, about what a bad mother she was. That was her word: bad mother. So, I felt guilty about that, too. For heaven's sake. Thanks, mom. roar Back to you, Copa. There was nothing left undone, in your care of your mother; there is nothing, nothing at all, you did not do for her. You gave her every care; you were with her in her final moments, were right there with her. You loved her out of life. She was not alone. So many die alone, Copa. You gave your mother every care. You did. Only frozen, Copa. Only sleeping; only Sleeping Beauty, wakening even now. What will your mother win, Copa? I urge you again to consider the guilt of a little girl, that little Child within, [I]retraumatized, horribly retraumatized, at the instant of the mother's passing and over those first terrible moments of realization that Mama was gone. [/I] It was already reawakening old trauma Copa. Everything in the months before that final time was traumatic. All of it, from the hospital with your sister, just to see her again at all, to her cornering the doctor outside the room to the way she arrogantly and openly displayed contempt for you, and for the man who loves you. [I]These things were done on purpose, Copa. They were not accidents. They were acts of malicious intent. Our sisters hate and despise the men who love us because they do love us. [/I]All of that Copa, compressed into minutes and then, the fight afterword, the nursing home, the screaming, the automaton-like service to your mother. The constant stream of decisions. The ever-increasing guilt at whatever decision was made. To be present in those final moments when your mother, beloved, feared, cherished...passed. You have posted about that moment again and again. As we have learned with the traumatic events that happen with our kids, new trauma rekindles the old, the conflagration this time a thousand times more destructive. And then, what is happening with your son, and between you and your son. Trauma upon trauma upon trauma. And always, life and death decisions to be made, and no one, no one in all the world, to make them but you. But Copa what you don't understand is that you handle everything that matters, [I]everything that mattered then and everything that matters now, where your son is concerned, or your property or with M or with physical therapy [/I]beautifully, perfectly. Gracefully, and with strength and flexibility Copa, and compassion. You are coming through it, Copa. There is just so very, very much ~ so many hurtful things, to come through. As you travel Copa, know we are holding you in our thoughts and will be here, should you need our strength, or our humor or concern or whatever we can give to or share with or witness for, you when you return. Trust, Copa. For me, the part I cut off in relation to my mom was and is, trust. And I posted earlier on this thread that [I]at the age of eighty, [/I]my mother pretended she would strike me[I]. [/I] And laughed. I was very correct to have never relaxed in my mother's presence. That cannot have been an easy lesson for a little girl, a young woman, a new mother, to learn. What is happening to me is that I see the habits I've formed ~ ways of seeing, ways of responding, and choose a new way. I choose a new way now Copa in so many things, small and large, that was not possible for me, before. It is like I saw myself performing my life before. I was continually judging every move, every response. Now, I am here. More here, anyway. It is like the Buddhists say: See all things around you and yourself in the center and then? Disappear. That is presence. That is where we are going, Copa. Presence in our own lives, in everything we do, from listening to music to feeling the sun on our faces. Time seems like a limitless, flexible thing to me, now. Isn't that something. I must carry less anxiety, now. ? That's okay, Copa. We want what we want. It doesn't have to make sense. I am wondering though whether a memorial of some kind ~ like they have for ancestors in Oriental homes. Or...D H mom had a special piece of furniture in her bedroom next to her bed where she kept portraits of her mother, of her sister who died, of the daughter who died at seventeen. And then, when her husband died, his picture went onto the wall above the table. Another daughter died recently, and her picture was placed there. Every night, D H mom lit candles ~ one for each of the people she loved. They are not dinner candles, but those little candles you see in Catholic churches, lit in memory of those we loved, and in faith. She cannot do it now, in the nursing home where she is. The pictures are there on the wall across from her bed, but there are no candles. I wonder whether it would comfort her if we were to find candles operated by solar power. I will check into something like that for her. When we came home this year, we brought her the prettiest stained glass butterflies with suction cups on the bottom. You put them on the window glass, where they absorb the sunshine all day. There are solar batteries inside them and at night, the beautiful butterflies shine with the softest light imaginable. It could be that there are candles like that. D H mom would like that very much, I think. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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