we walk…with our love and light

My Mom’s last year of life was all in preparation for her next destination.  I see that now, not so much then.  This wheelchair entered the picture near the end.  Her mobility slowly taken away and disconnecting her feet from the ground of this world, earth.  She was forced into this wheelchair most of the time near the end.  In a way preparing for a realm where we walk not with our feet but with our love and light.  However with my juvenile feet still rooted on this planet, at the time my heart and mind found it so difficult to understand my Mom’s transition.  All our energy went to how we can reverse this loss of mobility; we exhausted all her options, medications, surgical procedures, one after another etc….  All our desperate attempts with no avail to keep her here with us on earth.

“One of life’s hidden blessings is that as age and disability decrease our ability to be mobile, we draw ever closer to God.  Or seen from a different angle, our bodily devolution draws God closer to us.  Whatever the exact nature of the principle, the upshot is that along with our physical demise we have the amazing capacity to enter more deeply into a spiritual state, there to encounter a new awareness of the divine presence.”

Walking the Spirit: Embracing Life as a Spiritual Journey by James Rotholz

WEBwalk-with-love_001-copythe photograph:  Now without my Mom, having a moment alone in her home, listening to an inspiration, and preparing this vignette and then clicking the shutter release did bring me closer to understanding this truth.  This is my process.

Sharing this chapter of my Mom’s journey I hope to lend some acceptance and comfort to someone who may find a loved one in a similar story.  Be consoled knowing your loved one has evoked their spiritual mobility in exchange for their earthly one.

Today I remember the many times she would descend down these stairs while simultaneously calling my name in a singsong manner that always brought a smile on my face.  Indeed I would do anything to hear the sound of her voice joyfully rise and fall rhythmically with my name, me on her mind, in her heart.  However there’s not much I can do to make this wish come true.  So today I will listen to and enjoy my memories.  I will bring her along with me as I celebrate my day, my birthday.

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The wheelchair allowed my Mom to take me and my family out to dinner last June 2015, for my birthday.  My Mom had just recently been pumped with chemo and was not feeling well but insisted and expressed how much she really wanted to celebrate me.  And at the time we both knew why.  There was a strong sense that this might truly be the last birthday of mine that I would have with her and for her to be a part of her own child’s milestone, for the very last time.  These senses are so altering and challenging to the mind and heart.  As my birthday candle flickered in front of me, my Dad reached out to my Mom across the booth to hold her as they all sang softly happy birthday to me.  I held back crying throughout that entire dinner.  Again and again, I reminded myself to make memories of joy and not sorrow and to be present and not worry about not having her for my 40, 41, 53, 60, etc…because there would be bountiful days of worry, sadness, and grief inevitably to come.

I had her for 39 adventurous and glorious years.

Today I am 40.

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light and love