The end is the beginning - somehow.

Today is my mother's birthday. And it begins this weird period of time I live through each year. I've tried ignoring it. But its there. No matter what. Today begins the series of events that ultimately culminate in the anniversary of my mother's death in April. And since having a daughter, it has this new weird twist on it - a new "angle," shall we say. A strange bifurcation of an experience that is outside and inside me all at once.

I remember telling my doula - when I initially interviewed her - that finding the right person to share the experience of birth with me was paramount. She tilted her head and asked, "Why is that - apart from the obvious reasons?" I replied, "Because I am having a daughter. And this will give me the opportunity to heal, to close some sort of circle." I didn't really understand what I was saying. It kind of just came out. But it was true. And I still believe that Nico picked Bob and I (more Buddhist thought) for this exact reason.

My mother died when I was six - almost seven. What my life became after that is a whole different story, but it colored ALL of my experience, decisions...everything. I don't think people recover very well or gracefully from such losses as adults. Children are different. They adapt. And I did. But my father struggled, despite being re-married. My step-mother did what she could. The only saving grace was my step-sister, who is the other half of my soul to this day. My mother was 26 when she died. I have far out lived her. I have tried over the years to assess the "facts" that I was told. I have struggled not to pass judgment on the decisions my grandmother made regarding her life support. I have really tried to put myself in her shoes and understand why she buried her - despite my mother's horrific fear of being buried alive. I have tried to understand the decisions my father and step-mother made. I don't come up with answers, though.

This year, like so many others, I struggle with the consuming memories of my room before she died. With the house we lived in before my parents divorced.  Until April 9th, when the spell ends (when her life support was turned off), I am awash in a six-year-old world of remembered smells, lost comforts, and voices long gone. I hate it.

But the flip side of the torment is I now know her point of view. A part of her knew she was leaving her daughter to be raised by a woman she hated. By a man she didn't respect. And that knowledge is worse than all the memories of her loss put together. This mom-thing is more powerful than anything I could have suspected. Having Nico did close a circle, I just haven't figured out how.

Since having her, there is one thing that is consistent with this time of year: I pull out pictures of Nico's sonograms. I don't why. Something about my mother's loss and my child's beginning are related. Call it some cheesy, 2001 thing. There is no denying that Nico picked Bob and I for specific reasons. And the child in me will be soothed and comforted somehow by Nico's force of life. I know it in my gut. One year, in the future, February 20th won't have the power it has now. And I have the patience to wait.

Modelling

I was having a discussion with my husband recently over some sticky family stuff and actually said this sentence, "You know, this is who I am. And I'm not going to change." I felt a shiver of fear when the words came out of my mouth. But it was true. I pressed on, "It might be rigid. But I have been very successful in my life because of this rigidity." And its true.

I was admitting to passing judgment on someone. It wasn't very Buddhist of me, but this person had crossed a line: one of decency, kindness and civility. For those that make it into my inner circle, there is an undying sense of loyalty that you get from me. Only the truest, most dear are valued in this way - and I will defend you to the end. I can't help it. I'm just that way. Hurt these people and I am done with you. I don't bother with anger. I'm just done. Judgment is passed and there is no way to change my mind.

I have felt bad about this rigidity in the past. My father is this way. I know it comes from him. But his rigidity doesn't allow for an inner circle. Even children are "eliminated" for what he perceives as a slight. I am not this way. Blood is thicker than water. And friends can become family. When things in my life have been so conditional, friends have to be eligible for "family" status. I value them, desperately. And I don't let them go.

There is a Buddhist writing that says that we have all known each other before. People in your life have been with you over and over again - but in different roles. This is the way you learn from each incarnation to the next - playing out the same dramas each time until you don't do it anymore. I am aware of this and keep it in mind.

At a certain point, however, you have to just accept who you are and be happy with it. I have to model behavior for my daughter. I want her to accept herself, wholesale. I want her to know when she's wrong but accept who she is. It is very liberating to say, "I'm wrong." At a certain point, though, we have to just stop that inner critical voice and say, "I'm good. I'm my own best friend. I'm okay with that." And so, I accept who I am - all angles, hard edges. With a soft, gooey center. Call me 'Sabra.' Hear me roar.