The Yoga of Experience – Beautiful Flowers

Coming up in a few days, it will be the sixth anniversary of the death of my mother. Without getting into it too much, I’ll just say that it was a tough, tough time, those thirteen months in 2010 – 2011.

Some days I find myself dwelling on it, those thirteen weeks between her diagnosis of metastasized stage 4 lung cancer (she never smoked) and her transition. But those days are much fewer, and much farther between. And when the memories do appear, it gets easier to gently give them a little hug and a pat on the head and send them on their way, down memory lane, where they belong.

Some days I find myself wondering though, if I did a good enough “job.” Did I make the right decisions regarding pain medications, did I cause her any unnecessary suffering? Everyone kept looking at me to make decisions that I could only use intuition to make. Was I right?

As I learn more about the teachings of Abraham Hicks, I understand more fully the meaning of the word “resistance.” And I think of my mother’s passing in terms of resistance. She was so resistant to making her transition. She held on, much longer than she should have. But I myself had a huge amount of resistance – resistance to her impending “death,” and resistance to having to make decisions that I didn’t feel qualified to make, and having to see things that I was definitely not courageous enough to witness without becoming unhinged on some level.

So did I add to her resistance, did I make her experience more difficult by being so resistant myself?

I may never know the answers to these questions.

Except that’s not true.

I know the answers to all these questions. It’s the same answer for every question I could think of asking about that experience. The answer is “it doesn’t matter now.”

I did the best I could, and so did she. And it’s all OK now.

I still miss my mom, in the way we typically think of when we say we miss someone. I miss hearing her voice on the phone, or meeting her for coffee. I miss her telling me what the weather forecast is. I miss looking at her beautiful hands, and I miss her girlish laugh. But I miss those things less and less, to be honest. Because she is with me more now than she ever was when she was alive. And she’s damn funnier now, too.

I notice her around me a lot – usually when I’m not looking for her. This morning, I was driving to the yoga studio and I was slowing down at a stop sign on the road outside our neighborhood. Each corner is an empty lot, filled with trees and tall grass. I noticed a small bunch of beautiful yellow daffodils growing under a big old tree. And immediately I knew, there she was. She was the flowers. She is all around me – in the leaves of the trees, on the breeze. She is the rabbit that basks in the sun in my back yard. She is the sunshine.

We are all connected; what happens to me, happens to you. Where I go, you go. Everything we do affects the whole, and becomes part of our collective consciousness. She is wherever I am.

It used to bother me to think that my mom was everywhere, because I didn’t want her in my business anymore, and I wanted the experience of being completely independent. I no longer wanted her judgement. But the more I become comfortable living my own life, the more I am able to let her come back around, and the more I enjoy her presence, and know that she is always loving me, never judging, never sad, never resisting.

Sometimes, when I’m least expecting it, I catch her looking back at me from the mirror. It makes me incredibly happy. I sometimes tear up a bit, but I always smile. Because I know she is OK. And so am I.

walden pond, where we scattered my mom’s ashes 3/13/12 (one year anniversary).


So I wrote a book.
It’s a short book… I suppose it’s a children’s book but I don’t really think of it as one.
It’s a picture book. For all ages.
I wrote it rather quickly, and only after some time had gone by, did I realize what it was actually about. Does that ever happen to you? I’ll write something and I won’t know where it comes from until after I’m done and I go back and read it and then it makes sense…
After I realized what it was, I asked my Uncle Jan to illustrate it. I was afraid he’d say no, but maybe he realized what the book was too, and thankfully, he agreed to add illustrations to my text.
And here we are, a year later, and the book is done.

The book is for my Mom, who passed away March 10, 2011 after 13 weeks of illness. I can’t explain here what that was like, but I can say it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. This is a book about that experience.
My Uncle Jan is a wonderful artist, and it’s so generous of him to have created the beautiful illustrations that are in this book. I know that he did it for my mom. But I also know that it was for me, too. So thank you, Uncle.

The finished product is a gift. It’s a gift for my Mom, it’s a gift for me and my family. I am so very proud of it. To me, it feels like closure, it feels right.
I hope that you’ll take a minute and go look at it. And being the good marketer that I am, of course I’ll point out that if you like it, you can get your own copy… right here.

It’s a beautiful book. I know my Mom would love it.

the thunderstorm
the thunderstorm