TGIF :: My Mom Called

Weekly drop #32 || Healing from behind the veil

Living life “clear,” without dimmers (escapist use of alcohol, work, drugs, sex, exercise, spending, snark—you name it), sometimes feels like an endless marathon of transformation. Tough things come up, with associated feelings, and instead of finding a way to soften the edges, get over it, or just move on already, we fully experience the thing. We notice our reaction to it, do our best to respond in new and improved ways, and maybe even get to reflect on a bit of growth.

Yet, as soon as one thing has moved through, another arises. It’s a rollercoaster, relentless and exhilarating at once, yet so many of us experience the ride with a calm awareness of how much is happening all the time. There’s more to take in, yet we feel peculiarly more present and equipped. I sometimes wonder if life is just as rich as it always was, I just notice a lot more now that I’m undimmed.

Yet, I often find myself wanting to just s l o w e v e r y t h i n g d o w n. I’ve barely processed an intense conversation with my teenage son the night before when a new day starts, spilling over with a new set of decisions to make, information to process, a big invitation to consider, and a new project to nurture.

Paused

The plan for 2023 was to enjoy a break from my 20-year string of start-up tech exec roles and do just that, slow down. I wanted to focus more attention on my health, my family—and to explore whether this ClearLife thing is really a thing.

If you’ve been following me for a while, you know this grand plan was sidetracked by what I currently refer to as “my breast cancer chapter” (quite possibly the Universe’s way of showing me what slowing down really means). Diagnosis in December, surgery in January, radiation through March followed by several months of as much rest as I could muster.

It was a detour, a wake-up call, a humbling experience that put all of my ClearLife work to work. Of course I wanted to numb, escape, and ignore realities at times—and I did in my own now Junior Varsity ways (hello occasional pot smoking and TV series explorations, yawn).

In addition to navigating cancer treatment and learning how to take very good care of myself, I connected with wise women teachers, was humbled by the shifts in my role as a mother to my sons (12 & 16), evolved and reset numerous core relationships, and embraced a new appreciation for physical wellbeing. I also did a lot of laundry, found creative ways to exercise that weren’t running, had to move through what felt like a mini-identity crisis, and burned a lot of candles and incense at the living room altar, probably scaring some of my kids’ friends away in the process.

But by the end of October I felt rested, healed, grounded even.

Then my mom called.

“Honey… I Can See You.”

I lost my mother to esophageal cancer on December 4, 2011. She’d suffered a steep decline since her diagnosis four weeks prior, yet we’d been watching her slip away for years.

Sadly, my last memories of her are quite dark: She was withdrawn and exceedingly private—plagued with agoraphobia, delusions, and fits of anger. As one of her two caregivers, I knew she’d been living on vodka and painkillers for weeks, maybe months, by the time she transitioned. Her death should have been heartbreaking, but truth be told, I’d been mourning her for years, so her last days felt more transactional than emotional. It wasn’t until several years later when I found grief, compassion, and forgiveness in my heart, finally weeping a well of tears that had been clenched inside for decades.

Two weeks ago, a few days before Halloween, my friend Tiiu sent me a voice memo reminding me that this is the time of year when our ancestors are close, that the veil between us is thinner than usual. That night I had a dream. Not an ordinary dream—what I experienced in this dream really happened. I don’t know how better to explain it.

I was home with Soren and the kids and my phone rang.

“Hi honey! It’s mom.”

She sounded clear, healthy, and happy. I could hear her favorite classical music playing in the background and the presence of an adoring man cooking her dinner. I could see her too. She was in her late fifties, glowing and at ease, seated in a cozy environment appointed with her favorite colors and fabrics. Her shoulders were relaxed, her eyes open wide and bright, and her hair was lovingly tended to, amplifying her easeful beauty. I could sense that the man at her side had been there for a while, that he absolutely adored her, that she was deeply loved.

She continued: “I just wanted you to know that I have been watching you. I can see you. You are doing beautifully, honey. I am so happy for you and the life you have created for yourself. Keep going. And I love you. And I love seeing how you are.”

Stuttering through tears…

“Mom! Oh wow… How are you? Where are you? Are you okay?”

She assured me she is well and shared a few details about her love and life in this new place. I was listening to a mom that had, many years ago, vanished into the grips of pain, confusion, and various forms of self-medication while in her forties. Yet here she was, okay, alive—thriving even.

The call and the dream ended, like a vision that vanishes with unexpected silence and finality. I found myself crying hot tears at the edge of the bed, trying to explain to Soren what just happened. “It was real, it happened. I could see her and feel her.”

~1976

Three Awarenesses

Some big things shifted in the days following this call.

I heard my mom feeling being adored, even more importantly, experiencing love for herself. This felt like a lifting weight, a freedom, a release of some kind—for both of us. It’s hard to explain, but if my own mother is happy—finally—something in me experiences a new level of joyfulness and freedom too. She also expressed that she is proud of me, something I never really felt from her, at least in my adult years. I guess if I have my mother’s love and approval, there’s less of a need to strive and prove myself over here…which is my own version of self-love. How’s that for a full circle as only mothers and children can craft? Wow.

Second, as my friend Laura pointed out, this experience not only impacted me, but it also impacted my mother. We live on once we’ve passed—in all kinds of ways, but especially in the hearts and minds of those who knew us. Since this dream, when I think of her, I see and feel her differently. She is thriving in a way I recall from my youth, in a way I had almost forgotten. And there’s a consequential ripple effect upon those around me, especially our family. Because she’s transformed for me, those around me—including you—get to experience this liberated, luminous version of her instead of the trapped and shadowy one. It feels like a healing that can—will—emanate far beyond me, for years to come.

Finally, and this came just last week… my connection with her and my seeing her in this new light opened a new trajectory for me. I have a new role model, a new vision to hold in my own heart of how my own years may unfold. It is as if a fresh path has been discovered, one that I can choose to tread myself, if I so choose. I am realizing just now as I write this that of course she wanted to give this to me, as a mother would. We’re deeply connected with our mothers—indefinitely—in ways we may never see, not to mention, understand.✨

Healing

This is what ClearLife, being undimmed, is all about. It’s being available for the magic, and knowing it’s real. It’s the ability to trust ourselves, our dreams, our intuition—not laughing or shrugging it off. It’s being close and vulnerable enough with the kids to be able to talk about it, without hesitation or shame. It’s seeing mom in a dozen butterflies over as many days, now knowing that she really can see me, and I am willing and able to be seen.

I am still trying to find ways to slow it all down, find integration time for all of this noticing. Amidst the magic, meals are made, Zoom meetings are scheduled, documents are being edited to advance visions and plans… and more laundry is being folded. Yet I’m pretty sure I’m feeling a new sensation of peace, and awe, and wonder, and love. After all, my mom is watching over me and I know she loves me, and… herself.

❤️

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Miscellaneous…

Sangha Saturdays…. If you’d like to join us via zoom or in person, please indicate your interest here and you’ll be discretely added to the (anonymous) calendar invitations. Our next Zoom session is tomorrow, November 11th at 9a PT. 🙏🏼

Reader Q&A… Some great questions have been coming in, including one I’ll answer next week about how to support kids in families where alcohol is an issue (I’ve spent weeks researching this one).

Creativity and Community FTW!… We hosted friends for an evening of poetry and music last weekend and WOW. We can create these experiences in a living room with some candles, simple food and drink, and a dose of loving intention. Here’s to finding ways to gather and appreciate the talents, especially the secret ones, among us!