Life is Difficult

I feel helpless. Not the helplessness that might accompany depression (on the contrary, I am filled with and empowered by choice). But I feel helpless with regard to my mom's pain and suffering. And she's really suffering. 

I shared my raw sadness when mom moved to a care center. It's been a life-long process to understand I can't save her. Yet I still relied on my ability to help her. When I sat with her compassionately, I could see her relax. When I listened, she smiled appreciatively. I didn't realize how tightly I clung to those moments--those moments when I could see my mom's response. I helped her. 

Now she's flat: unresponsive, lost in depression, hopeless.  And I'm helpless. It's a new layer of grief.

It's hard to reconcile that being helpless doesn't equate to not caring. It's easy to understand intellectually (I know I can't help her, yet I still love her). But emotionally, it's a more difficult truth to embrace. I love her, so I really want to help her. That's the place in myself I'm trying to nurture. When I feel helpless, I let myself cry. I let myself love my mom; grieve her. And I try to be kind with myself. 

This weekend, I had space (in the peacefulness of nature) for reflection. I realized I'd probably had my last meaningful interaction with my mom. And it wasn't when I visited in July; it was back in May. I showed her photographs and asked her about the hardships she felt. We had a conversation. It may have been our last. Even though her physical body could keep her alive for years.

I've grieved my mom in many ways over many years. It's been difficult to be her daughter. But I don't want the difficult times to overshadow the positive moments--and they exist, to be sure. Sylvia Boorstein talks about a plaque she saw in the early years of her meditation practice. The plaque read, "Life is so difficult, how can we be anything but kind?" What a beautiful way to work with the difficult. Be kind. And where did I learn kindness? From my mom. From her I learned empathy (deep empathy) and the importance of small kindnesses. 

My mom has lived a difficult life; and she's also kind. I love her, yet I can't help her. I'm gathering memories from her friends. Lovely, poignant memories that honor my mom--the pieces of her that depression has eclipsed, but that I can always hold in my heart.