Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Some Anniversaries Will Never Be Celebrated

"Yoga means that now there is no hope, now there is no future, now there are no desires.  One is ready to know what is...One is interested only in that which is because only the real can free you.  Only the reality can become liberation.  Total despair is needed... A moment comes to every human being when he feels total hopelessness."  ~Osho

I know that I posted yesterday about how calm I've been for the past month in spite of all of the stressors in my life.  And I promise, that's the norm for me.  

And then midnight hit.  And the date changed.  And, of right now, today is only 5 minutes old and I'm struggling already with the day I've been mentally counting down to for a couple of months now.

It's been 5 years.  5 years since I got the call that my mom had collapsed.  That the paramedics worked on her for an hour and got her heart started, but not her breathing.  5 years since I prayed on my rosary hundreds of times, since I brushed her hair so it would look like she was just sleeping, since I had to convince my father that she was never coming back.  5 years since I had to act as her designated healthcare proxy.  Since my father called the police to tell them the doctors were trying to kill his wife.  Officially, 5 years since she was pronounced brain dead.  On a Tuesday, just like today.  But thanks to some twisted legal ironies, it wasn't for another four days until we could donate her organs and allow her to rest in peace.  

Even being in an emotionally healthier place now than I was before or in the two years after her death, it's still hard to cope with the idea that there was more I could have done to prevent this. I had opportunities to say things... but I didn't.  I was too wrapped up in myself to say something that might have changed--and prolonged--her life.

In my head, I know I can't think that way.  I can't live with "what-ifs" and that even if I had said something, there's no guarantee that things would have been different.

I also have to consider whether I would be in the healthier place I am now had it not been for the despair of those consecutive years of loss.  When I found yoga, I was broken--only I hadn't really realized it yet.  Would I have latched onto that feeling of peace if I hadn't been emerging from such a dark hole?  And how twisted is that, to think it's possible that I'm in a better place now because of those losses?  Clearly, Osho believes that I could not have found yoga in a meaningful way without those feelings of hopelessness.  I'm not sure how I feel.

I often wonder if my mother would have been so dependent on pain medication and sleep medicine if she had found yoga too.  She was very spiritual.  She was interested in New Age philosophy and metaphysics; crystals and tarot cards.  She considered herself Buddhist.  I know she would have been drawn towards the intangible branches of yoga.  But would she have been interested in asana practice?  And if she had, would the healing components of yoga have been enough to alleviate some of her dependency of the vicodin or the methodone or the ambien?  

I know that asking these questions isn't productive and won't lead me anywhere, but I can't help wondering.

I don't really have any profound words to close out this post.  I know it's rather disjointed, but that's the way I am today.  I'll just leave you with this poem, written by my mother and used on the back of her memorial card.

I walked with an angel today
I walked with an angel today
With my hands clasped I did pray
That she may guide all of us here
And teach us not to fear
She walks in the light
She shines oh so bright.
I walked with an angel today
Now my fears are at bay
She has a gleaming smile for me
I know that this was meant to be
For She was the angel,
The Angel I walked with today.

~CAD, September 27, 1999

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