My body feels creaky. My lower back aches. Yet my osteopath and massage therapist find no structural or muscular issues. This doesn't surprise me. My sacrum and belly are reacting to strong emotions--to deep-seated sadness. Sadness I've held all my life.
When I was five, my mom was diagnosed with bi-polar condition. When I reached high school, mom additionally struggled with severe anxiety and worry. Now, my mom struggles to walk. All my life I've wanted to save her--to take away her pain; allow her to see and embrace her beautiful soul; to give her strength and tools to cope. All my life.
Through therapy, writing, and meditation, I arrived at a place of peace with my mom. I knew I couldn't change her, affect her actions, or save her, but I could love her, treat her with patience and compassion, and listen. Yet even in this place of peace, my insides feel torn apart again. All the sadness comes back as we place my mom in a nursing home. It feels like the final frontier--this could be my last chance to save her, but indeed I cannot. And that makes me sad.
As I make my transition from safe career to soul-filling (unknown) career--as my heart sings and I see the beauty in myself--my mom transitions to a nursing home; her final stop in a life filled with difficulty. Is this juxtaposition ironic or meaningless or telling? I don't know. But it has a powerful pull on my emotions. Does it honor my mom that I'm spreading my wings in a way she never could? Or is that question just another route through which I hope to save her?
And, in the meantime, I'm beginning a new path. My mom can't walk, yet I feel like I can fly. And such is the circle of life.