Joy

"From joy all beings are born,
By joy they are all sustained,
And into joy they again return."

-Taittiriga Upanishad



This quote is one I found in my dad's stuff after he died. He had written it by hand and stuck it in his top dresser drawer, along with cards--most of them from mom or me, old passports and other special paraphernalia. (I found a copy of a paper i wrote sophomore year of college about The Clash in the bottom of the madness) I made a copy, it spoke to me. And I find it comforting. I imagine my father thinking of death as "returning to joy" and I remember the raven I saw flying over us just after he died on the mountain, and I think "you are free now. part of the wind and the earth and that quiet, timeless place that is at the center of us all where there is no suffering, only joy."

I have found something unexpected in my grief. Page and I were talking about this peculiarity, and she agreed, she said, "I was surprised by how much we laughed those first few days!" Laugher truly is medicine. It relieves tension, it lifts some of the heaviness of grief, and it brings our minds into the present moment.

I want to live my life seeking joy, and spreading joy. Finding joy, living in the present moment: I can learn from my dog, Mackney. He is so damn happy!

So I guess you could say I have been on a quest for joy. I have been listening to the child part of myself and playing. Naute is healing an wholesome. I feel a sense of deep inner peace, and comfort when I am out in nature. And there is a sense of exploration and playfulness. I believe life is what we decide to make it. But balance is everything. We have goals, but we can become consumed by them. We also must play, and let the universe guide us to some extent. I believe everything falls into place as it should. Opportunities come when they are supposed to . Each life experience prepares us for something that follows.

I feel right being in Durango now. Sunshine makes my quest for joy less of a battle. I feel closer to my dad. And mom and I are together. as we should be now. My dog is a great friend, and I find myself laughing and enjoying much of the time. Yes, it is always lurking somewhere in my brain. I see him passing out. I see his glasses, broken, lying on the rock. I think "goddamnit! why couldn't I have thought to remove his helmet to better open his airway. I see his body lurching as CPR was performed. I think about these things in the grocery store. Driving. In the middle of conversations--little things are triggers. skiing, hiking, playing with mackney, out with friends, alone at home. THose memories are a part of me now. But the vividness of that day is fading a bit. It does not feel real. It didn't then. It doesn't now, almost 8 months later. It never will. It is shifting now. I am starting to focus more on missing dad because of all of our happy memories together. Because he was my best friend, constant adventure partner, guide, protector, "Mr. Fix-it", he was my daddy. And I loved him with all my heart and I thank him for teaching me the depth and power of love. The love I felt for him as he was dying was the most powerful thing I have ever felt. And the void that he has left is so deep, I cannot comprehend.

I ask myself, sometimes, Ok, how do I do this? Can I really step out into the world today? Can I really figure out how to do this without asking dad? I am learning to rely much more on myself, because I have to. And he (and my wonderful mother of course) has given me the tools to figure these things out. It's just so damn hard. And I want to throw a temper tantrum. I don't want to figure this out alone! HELP me dad! But he can no longer help me in this world of living flesh.

So Ok, I think, just take it slow, one step at a time. I will figure out this whole new life. I will learn to function again, and along the way, joy is my savior. So I will reach out to joy for help. And I will play and explore and allow myself to still be a kid sometimes.

Pics: Happy memores bring me joy. DOing things I love with mom--Biking. Costa Rica!!! (pura vida) rafting. Mackney--a constant source of joy, love, company, and comfort.

"Past and future are in the mind only - I am now. "

-Sri Nisargadatta Mahara

missing dad...my amazing mother...spirituality???

Looking at my old post, I lost it. I miss my dad sooo much. The sight of his face hurts because I can no longer kiss the roughness of that cheek when he had not recently shaved. Because I can no longer be comforted by those arms. I still remember exactly how his back, his shoulders, his arms felt. That special comfort that can only come from being cradled by the arms of my father. I wonder if those memories, the memories of his physical body will fade with time? I hope they do not. I will miss them. But how do you record the memory of touch? I cannot express with words the exact contours of my fathers shoulder, his back, his cheek. Oh how I miss him.

I keep thinking, God, mom is such a trouper. She went through her period of grief I feel like. She was deliberating for longer than necessary over a lumpectomy versus a mastectomy. One day, she was talking to one of her friends on the telephone. "I guess next step is I decide what kind of surgery I am having," she said.

"You've already decided." I said. "You decided that first day, you're having a mastectomy."

She looked at me for a moment. Nodded, and passed this information on to her friend on the other line. From then on, when friends asked her, she said, "well Natalie said I've already decided what kind of surgery I'm going to have, so I guess I'm having a mastectomy," still a bit unsure. Still scared.

The day before surgery:doctors and more doctors... but we learned exactly what to expect the following morning... S-DAY... the big day. (We joked about it. I think it helped mom to joke and make light of it. I think laugher is therapy we should remember, because it has really helped us). But we ended that day with the energy-healing session. A very powerful experience, I felt my father's love, and his intense love for mom as it flowed through me. I am usually not one to speak quite so... I do not even know the word, I guess "other worldly"? or something... new agey? whatever. What I felt was powerful and intense and I think I felt that presence because I was open to whatever experience (or not) I felt while doing this "energy work" with mom. I have been interested in naturopathic, homeopathic....yada yada for a long time. And I feel like I am a fairly open person spiritually. I feel something. I do not feel the need to try to capture it with words. But it exists in the mountains. In the love that people have poured out to my mother (she has been "coated in prayer" by family), it exists in the mundane experience of the everyday--whatever joy or whatever experience--there is something to be gained, learned, appreciated, perhaps loved about every day. It may be something simple: somedays I decide that I am grateful that i can take deep breaths (I love yoga--so I appreciate that I can do...or attempt--like we all do--yoga), or I am so glad that i have a body that functions so well. I am grateful that I am learning to listen to my heart. Taking this semester off of school was difficult. I had so much pressure to "stay in school!" "finish now--just get it over with!"; yet, I decided to listen to what my gut feeling was: that I needed a break from school. And then, about two weeks into the new semester, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer; with no husband to comfort her, to hug her, to take care of her. So I was called home. And now our family is together.

It feels right to be in Durango now. I am in my home town; the place where I grew up, where I took my first wobbly steps into the world--both physically and metaphorically, the place where my father is remembered, and it is the place where people knew him. And it is the place where I was introduced to change, and grief: death when my pony died, and then my grandfathers. I learned to let myself cry with my head buried on my dads chest. I would lift my head and see a big wet mark from my tears on his collared shirt. But he never cared. He just wanted to hug me.

Again--I miss him. Smiling. I know I always will. Always I will miss him intensely. But the pain is not as bad as it once was; it is not as sharp. It no longer takes my breath away to realize, again, that he is really gone.

I know mom misses him too. She says she is numb--maybe because she has already experienced so much pain and hardship in her life. But his love still is such a strong in our small family. Dad used to say he "counted his blessings" especially for me and for mom. I've been thinking lately that I "count my blessings" to have had such a tight family. To have had such an amazing father. To have grown up the way I did, learning to love, appreciate, and be comfortable in nature. I come from strong, steady roots. I admire both of my parents so much. They are role models, heros, and teachers--just as parents should be. And I "count my blessings" for my mom, for my family, for our friends, for all the love and prayers and thoughts sent our way.

Dad, even in his death, has left me with so, so many lessons. I think I am finally getting some of what he was trying to teach me all along. He wanted me to appreciate the present moment. Now I have to. Thinking about the future is painful. He wanted me to learn to love myself. And I have discovered so much of him, and so much of mom in myself over the past seven months. I love them so much, how can I not love those parts of myself, and with that beginning, I am learning to treat myself with acceptance, patience and love... always a work in progress.

Most of all, I appreciate my mother. Seeing her so vulnerable during surgery, I realized how intense my love is for her. And I have found an extra reserve of patience that seems to exist for the purpose of caring for a parent. I have done so much for her, and I have truly been doing (most of) it out of love. I love this women, who for so long cared for me. So I will do what I can to help her through this time.

In a way, helping mom has been cathartic. I have seen both of my parents at their absolute most vulnerable--my father as he died of his heart attack, my mother as she was put under and wheeled off for surgery. And after surgery, as she was only sort of in control of her body... she recovered ( and continues to recover) rapidly and well! But still,there were those moments. and it helps me now to be able to help mom. To be able to care for her. To not have lost her (they asked for her living will before she went under anesthesia). To watch her recover. I can help her. I no longer feel quite so helpless (a residual feeling after my fathers death on Long's Peak). And through helping her, perhaps, i am learning to trust myself again... I certainly feel like I am regaining strength.

As I sit here in the hospital...

I am watching my mother as she sleeps. Her tremors are quiet. Jaw loose of all tension, her chest rises and falls evenly, and she is breathing well. Her skin is tinted slightly blue from the dye injected into her right breast tissue. This morning, shortly after 8:30, I watched my sleepy mother wheeled away from me, down the OR wing toward a mastectomy of her right breast.

Sitting here in the hospital, I think about all the hours and hours she has spent by my side when I was sick or hurting. And I think about dad too. I feel his presence. Mom and I are both cradled in his love. He is here with us, and I am comforted. It feels right, in a strange way, to be sitting here in this hospital room alone with my mother. I am adjusting, I guess, to our family of two. Last night, I rubbed mom's feet before bed, like dad used to do. She cried, and I sat with her, comforting her quietly, and allowing her presence to comfort me. We miss him so much. But because he is dead, I must learn to rely on my own strength. On the support from friends and relatives. We have so much love and support.

I am sitting here in this hospital, drinking in the incredible calm energy of the room. I helped perform energy healing work on my mom. I could feel the heaviness as my hands pulled stagnant energy away. Mom is sleeping peacefully; an aromatherapy eye-pillow blocks out the light, and soothing music, the noise. I can look to the tv for photos of nature. I breathe in deeply and I feel the peace and love dispersed in the air. Again, I know dad is with us. Loving us still.

Yesterday, we did an energy session with mom. The nurse had me start with a point on mom's feet: a point that allows her to feel herself as strong and powerful; to awaken her strength. And I thought of dad telling me he enjoyed rubbing mom's feet to help her relax. And I focused on my breath, and thought about how much he loved us and we loved him. How much he wants to be here to hold us both now. And at the end of the session, the nurse started crying. She said she did not know why. Then she took a breath and said "I just had a vision, of you being held by an angel" and we all started crying and I said "he's with us". The nurse said that kind of powerful experience had only happened to her once before.

Last night, we had a BBBB: Bye Bye Boobie Bash;) with pink themed snacks and drinks; pink balloons (boobies) everywhere. People signed mom's mirror with messages of love, support, laughter. We laughed and laughed. She laughed, and she was hugged, and she was so uplifted and comforted by the support of so many. We both were.

We started off this morning centered, breathing deeply and calm. Mom was ready. And I was ready. My dad's sister Kristin, Mom's best friend from forever, Sandy, and me= initial team. Then add Briefly Don, and his wife Shirley, mom's good friend. Then Dottie stopped by for a quick hug, then Ginny Brown came to bless Mom and say a prayer with all of us over her. And then it was time and everyone but me left the room. The anesthesiologist gave her some medicine to relax her, and she drifted out quickly, wooden cross in one hand, and my hand in the other. I put her i-pod headphones in with healing, soothing music, and she drifted off and I told her I loved her, and they wheeled her away and I broke down because the sight of my pale, sleepy mother reminded me of watching my father die. The doctors and nurses reassured me that they would take good care of her, "No, its just...that I watched my father die and..." I choked out, but they were already walking away. I grabbed a tissue and stood outside moms room for a minute, pulling myself together before joining Sandy and Kristin.

And now it is over, and now she can focus on healing! or rather we have healing to do. SENDING POSITIVE ENERGY MOM.

As I sit here in this hospital room, with this amazing woman before me, looking vulnerable, yet relaxed in her hospital bed, My heart is filled with gratitude. I am so grateful for all of the life experiences that I have had that have prepared me for this moment. I am grateful that my mother is alive. That I love her so damn much, and that she loves me. I am grateful that she is getting some rest. And I am grateful for the peace in this room: a positive environment for healing. I am grateful for all of mom's friends, for our family, for all of my friends. I am grateful for my dog, who has allowed me to escape from the hospital today for walks in the sun. I am so, so thankful that I am alive, and well. That I can be here for my mom. That I can hold her hand, and rub her feet. That I can sit quietly in the corner of this hospital room and watch her sleep.

Here is the photo she wanted to look at upon waking: