Being a bereaved mother (unlike orphans and widows there's no noun for us, an interesting gap in otherwise word-abundant English) has made me a more open-minded person.
Getting up each morning and through each day in a semi-productive manner, while staying positive and eschewing bitterness, are herculean tasks my first 40 years didn't prepare me for. New tools, ideas and perspectives were needed.
Thanks to marriage issues, my previous bias that therapy was only for the truly disturbed went by the wayside even before Evan's death. And as I've written previously, yoga, meditation, remote Himalayan monastaries, meds, volunteer work (and Cub of course) all have had their place on my journey.
But I haven't written about my romp through the new age underground. From shamans and sweat lodges, to mediums, psychics, energy healers, even a past-life regression under hypnosis, I've left few stones unturned in my search for healing and understanding. The old (rational) me would have rolled my eyes at all this new agey "Hereafter" stuff, but it's had its place.
So when the workshop leaders at Omega last weekend pulled out their guitars and asked us to start singing, I not only took it in stride but actually sang (audibly, publicly) with nary a giggle nor hint of cynicism.
Really, no further proof is needed of how I've changed the past four years.
The experiential workshop pushed us out of our comfort zone in other ways--we danced, hopped, pounded pillows, screamed, even spooned with strangers. My layman's take is the experience is designed to help us bring up our inner shit, with the idea that once we acknowledge our baggage, hurt and pain, we can consiously deal with it and live a happier, more authentic life.
Going in I wasn't sure what I'd 'cough up'--the guilt of having been a working mother (borderline workaholic) who lost her only child? The anger at those I feel let down by? The despair and 'will to live' issues I still grapple with occasionally?
Nope. Just the raw pain of bringing a child onto this earth, carrying him in my womb, feeding him with my body, nurturing him with my soul, would have gladly given my life for...and yet he left this life first.
It's not right...it'll never be right. And the pain, just like the memories, will always be. The workshop leaders were wise enough to agree.
But what about the anger, guilt, despair, my own personal trinity of suffering?
Do they have anything to do with my son? Well, no. They're just bullshit add-ons: 'anger' at others is displaced anger at the universe (pointless), 'guilt' is anger at myself (not helpful) and 'despair' is just nihilistic and quite the opposite of who he was or what he'd have bought into. None of it honors him; none makes the world a better place.
Pain will always be with me. But I'm ready to be done with the suffering, the anger, guilt, despair. Wish me luck.
