Anniversary
Jul. 17th, 2006 03:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ciroccojToday is the second anniversary of my mom's death. It's strange how it doesn't feel like it's been that long, yet at the same time it also feels like it's been a lot longer.
I find myself thinking of my mom a lot lately. Just in terms of things I wish I could have shared with her. Like Justin's ballet recital; she went all of mine, through my whole childhood, and it would've been really neat to take her to her grandson's. She would've been so proud of him, and would have probably taken dozens of pictures and showed them to family and friends from Ottawa to Thurso to Germany to Chile.
Or like babysitting![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ninja_kat Jr. I think she would've gotten a kick out of his belly laugh, and his completely adorable eye-crinkling-grin. I also think she would've been so incredibly proud of how ninja_kat has handled motherhood - not just the regular new baby challenges, but the additional physical problems brought on by her pregnancy as well.
It would've been so neat to talk to her about everything to do with the Law Review. I don't know how much of it she would've been interested in, but I'm sure some of it would've intrigued her. Not to mention being able to tell her friends and family that her daughter was an editor :)
Oh, god, the kids' schooling. She never got to see any of Justin's. His first day of school, his starting French Immersion, Daniel's homeschooling, watching Cosmos together for home school science...
Not to mention the end of Chris' residency. The last few years that she was with us were heavily laden with Chris' bloody residency and the damage it wreaked on all of us. The exhaustion and the fighting and the general suck of life. She wasn't exactly supportive throughout it, and that still hurts, but it still would've been nice to be with her after it was all over. If only because she had a distressing habit of being rather unsupportive during crises, then looking back after the crisis was over and saying things like, "I felt so bad for you back then," or "I didn't know how to help," or even sometimes "I was so proud of how you handled all of that."
Which, granted, always made me want to yell something like, "Well then why didn't you bloody well say so then, when it would've actually helped?!" but it did help, somewhat, even after the fact. It would've been nice to hear something like that after Chris' residency was done.
The whole trip to Hawai'i was such a bittersweet thing for me. I went there with my mom when I was about 11, so a lot of what we did really reminded me of her and made me wish I could've told to her all about it, and heard again stories I'd forgotten, of what we did back then. My own memories are a bit hazy - I was 11, after all. And it bugs me that anything I've forgotten is effectively gone - from the Hawai'i trip and for most of my childhood, actually, since she was a single mother and I was an only child.
I'm glad she didn't have to go through Guy's illness and death. It would've been devastating to her. But I think in part she would've dealt with it by helping the kids through missing their grandpa; she often dealt with personal problems by going out and helping others, and the kids could certainly have used extra TLC dealing with it.
To a small extent I feel a bit envious of people whose belief systems allow them to think of their loved ones as watching over them, or waiting for them in the next life, or whatever. Because I'm pretty much a confirmed atheist, and pretty firmly believe that my mother is completely gone and now only exists in the memories of those who knew her. So I don't really think it's possible to talk to her, or feel like she's somehow aware of what's going on in our lives. But in my own way in the last few months I have been talking to her. In my head, that is. Imagining telling her about stuff that's going on. I can't really imagine what she would say, because she was a complex individual and you could never really be sure how she would react to anything. But I got tired of thinking "I'd like to tell my mom X" and started to actually do it.
I know, it's a little schizoid, talking to somebody you know perfectly well is not there, but it helps. It helps to underline the fact that, although she is gone, part of her lives on, in a way that I can actually grasp and believe in far more than I grasp or believe in anything metaphysical or spiritual. You know the part of Prisoner of Azkaban, where Sirius Black tells Harry, "The ones who love us never really leave us. They always live here, in our hearts"? Yeah, that's how I see it too.
I keep remembering the minister at her funeral, who told me that without God and Jesus, I could not deal with the loss of my mother. It's... I still don't know what to say about that. I don't think the way I'm dealing with it emotionally is all that different from how anybody would deal with death, regardless of whether Jesus is in the picture or not.
I mean, I may be an atheist, but that doesn't mean I don't have any 'spiritual' beliefs, for lack of a better word. Other people believe their loved ones have gone to heaven, or another life. I believe the random arrangement of molecules and memory engrams which made my mother unique have dissipated, but they're still part of the world. Just part of other things, like flowers and rivers and birds. I believe I will never see her again, but I have a lot of memories that she gave me, and beliefs and attitudes coloured by everything she gave me while she was alive. She's not really gone, not to me.
And dealing with her death doesn't make me fear my own eventual death and oblivion; it just makes me hope that when I'm gone, and my own molecules are floating around and my consciousness has dissipated, that my own friends and family will be able to remember me with love and to feel that my time on earth wasn't wasted. And use their own time to its fullest as well.
See, I believe this life is all we have. I don't think we were created by anybody, for any particular purpose; I think the creation of life pretty much consisted of a random assortment of molecules accidentally coming together in a self-replicating way, and gradually, through totally random processes, creating complex patterns, eventually creating consciousness. Which is totally amazing, to me. Whether there's a hand moving all of that or not, the idea that bits of stuff could, through time and chance, eventually create collections of molecules that end up being able to fly, see colours, and compose orchestral masterpieces, is something to be celebrated, not shrugged off or taken for granted.
It's like rainbows, you know? They're not an arrow of light shot through the heavens by the Hunter Goddess or whatever other explanations were made up to explain them in the past. They're simply the manifestation of a bunch of laws of physics that results in a stunning display that's no less beautiful and magical just because we can explain scientifically exactly how it comes about.
I also think nobody's looking over me to make sure I live it well and follow the rules. Which doesn't make me feel like I can just whatever the hell I please; I believe it makes it even more important to live life morally, and appreciate the world around me, because it's the only chance I've got to experience it. And the only legacy I will ever leave are memories and the results of my choices and actions, for good or bad. Which makes me determined to make the right choices and actions, because I will not get another chance to make things right in the next life if I screw up this one. And I will get no reward in the next life, no pat on the head telling me "Well done," or "Proceed through the Pearly Gates," or "You get to come back as a world-famous philanthropist and not a slug". That pat on the head has to come from me, in this life. My reward is knowing I did what I thought was right and I added to the positive experience of others in this world, and helped make other people's lives a little better or easier. Which is a worthwhile endeavor, because, in my belief system, this life is all they have as well. So I can't just look at the poor or the sick or the suffering and think "Too bad, oh well at least they'll get their reward in the next life."
And a big part of how I comfort myself when I think of my mom is, I remember how much she experienced and how much she enjoyed this life. And how morally she lived her life, how many good things she did for others. It doesn't matter so much, whether she herself is still around. As long as what made her is still with us, and what she did lives on, she's not really gone. And she won't ever be totally gone; in time her name will be forgotten, but parts of what made her who she was will still be part of this world.
So yeah. That's where my thoughts have been going for the last several months. And... I dunno, maybe it's not the way most people deal with life and death and loss, but believe it or not I find my way comforting too. I'm still not sure why, to so many people, my beliefs are incomprehensible or wrong or bad. I'm still not sure why it seems so many people believe that people who believe as I do are to be pitied or censured or convinced of the error of our ways.
Oh well, one mystery at a time ;)
I find myself thinking of my mom a lot lately. Just in terms of things I wish I could have shared with her. Like Justin's ballet recital; she went all of mine, through my whole childhood, and it would've been really neat to take her to her grandson's. She would've been so proud of him, and would have probably taken dozens of pictures and showed them to family and friends from Ottawa to Thurso to Germany to Chile.
Or like babysitting
ninja_kat Jr. I think she would've gotten a kick out of his belly laugh, and his completely adorable eye-crinkling-grin. I also think she would've been so incredibly proud of how ninja_kat has handled motherhood - not just the regular new baby challenges, but the additional physical problems brought on by her pregnancy as well.It would've been so neat to talk to her about everything to do with the Law Review. I don't know how much of it she would've been interested in, but I'm sure some of it would've intrigued her. Not to mention being able to tell her friends and family that her daughter was an editor :)
Oh, god, the kids' schooling. She never got to see any of Justin's. His first day of school, his starting French Immersion, Daniel's homeschooling, watching Cosmos together for home school science...
Not to mention the end of Chris' residency. The last few years that she was with us were heavily laden with Chris' bloody residency and the damage it wreaked on all of us. The exhaustion and the fighting and the general suck of life. She wasn't exactly supportive throughout it, and that still hurts, but it still would've been nice to be with her after it was all over. If only because she had a distressing habit of being rather unsupportive during crises, then looking back after the crisis was over and saying things like, "I felt so bad for you back then," or "I didn't know how to help," or even sometimes "I was so proud of how you handled all of that."
Which, granted, always made me want to yell something like, "Well then why didn't you bloody well say so then, when it would've actually helped?!" but it did help, somewhat, even after the fact. It would've been nice to hear something like that after Chris' residency was done.
The whole trip to Hawai'i was such a bittersweet thing for me. I went there with my mom when I was about 11, so a lot of what we did really reminded me of her and made me wish I could've told to her all about it, and heard again stories I'd forgotten, of what we did back then. My own memories are a bit hazy - I was 11, after all. And it bugs me that anything I've forgotten is effectively gone - from the Hawai'i trip and for most of my childhood, actually, since she was a single mother and I was an only child.
I'm glad she didn't have to go through Guy's illness and death. It would've been devastating to her. But I think in part she would've dealt with it by helping the kids through missing their grandpa; she often dealt with personal problems by going out and helping others, and the kids could certainly have used extra TLC dealing with it.
To a small extent I feel a bit envious of people whose belief systems allow them to think of their loved ones as watching over them, or waiting for them in the next life, or whatever. Because I'm pretty much a confirmed atheist, and pretty firmly believe that my mother is completely gone and now only exists in the memories of those who knew her. So I don't really think it's possible to talk to her, or feel like she's somehow aware of what's going on in our lives. But in my own way in the last few months I have been talking to her. In my head, that is. Imagining telling her about stuff that's going on. I can't really imagine what she would say, because she was a complex individual and you could never really be sure how she would react to anything. But I got tired of thinking "I'd like to tell my mom X" and started to actually do it.
I know, it's a little schizoid, talking to somebody you know perfectly well is not there, but it helps. It helps to underline the fact that, although she is gone, part of her lives on, in a way that I can actually grasp and believe in far more than I grasp or believe in anything metaphysical or spiritual. You know the part of Prisoner of Azkaban, where Sirius Black tells Harry, "The ones who love us never really leave us. They always live here, in our hearts"? Yeah, that's how I see it too.
I keep remembering the minister at her funeral, who told me that without God and Jesus, I could not deal with the loss of my mother. It's... I still don't know what to say about that. I don't think the way I'm dealing with it emotionally is all that different from how anybody would deal with death, regardless of whether Jesus is in the picture or not.
I mean, I may be an atheist, but that doesn't mean I don't have any 'spiritual' beliefs, for lack of a better word. Other people believe their loved ones have gone to heaven, or another life. I believe the random arrangement of molecules and memory engrams which made my mother unique have dissipated, but they're still part of the world. Just part of other things, like flowers and rivers and birds. I believe I will never see her again, but I have a lot of memories that she gave me, and beliefs and attitudes coloured by everything she gave me while she was alive. She's not really gone, not to me.
And dealing with her death doesn't make me fear my own eventual death and oblivion; it just makes me hope that when I'm gone, and my own molecules are floating around and my consciousness has dissipated, that my own friends and family will be able to remember me with love and to feel that my time on earth wasn't wasted. And use their own time to its fullest as well.
See, I believe this life is all we have. I don't think we were created by anybody, for any particular purpose; I think the creation of life pretty much consisted of a random assortment of molecules accidentally coming together in a self-replicating way, and gradually, through totally random processes, creating complex patterns, eventually creating consciousness. Which is totally amazing, to me. Whether there's a hand moving all of that or not, the idea that bits of stuff could, through time and chance, eventually create collections of molecules that end up being able to fly, see colours, and compose orchestral masterpieces, is something to be celebrated, not shrugged off or taken for granted.
It's like rainbows, you know? They're not an arrow of light shot through the heavens by the Hunter Goddess or whatever other explanations were made up to explain them in the past. They're simply the manifestation of a bunch of laws of physics that results in a stunning display that's no less beautiful and magical just because we can explain scientifically exactly how it comes about.
I also think nobody's looking over me to make sure I live it well and follow the rules. Which doesn't make me feel like I can just whatever the hell I please; I believe it makes it even more important to live life morally, and appreciate the world around me, because it's the only chance I've got to experience it. And the only legacy I will ever leave are memories and the results of my choices and actions, for good or bad. Which makes me determined to make the right choices and actions, because I will not get another chance to make things right in the next life if I screw up this one. And I will get no reward in the next life, no pat on the head telling me "Well done," or "Proceed through the Pearly Gates," or "You get to come back as a world-famous philanthropist and not a slug". That pat on the head has to come from me, in this life. My reward is knowing I did what I thought was right and I added to the positive experience of others in this world, and helped make other people's lives a little better or easier. Which is a worthwhile endeavor, because, in my belief system, this life is all they have as well. So I can't just look at the poor or the sick or the suffering and think "Too bad, oh well at least they'll get their reward in the next life."
And a big part of how I comfort myself when I think of my mom is, I remember how much she experienced and how much she enjoyed this life. And how morally she lived her life, how many good things she did for others. It doesn't matter so much, whether she herself is still around. As long as what made her is still with us, and what she did lives on, she's not really gone. And she won't ever be totally gone; in time her name will be forgotten, but parts of what made her who she was will still be part of this world.
So yeah. That's where my thoughts have been going for the last several months. And... I dunno, maybe it's not the way most people deal with life and death and loss, but believe it or not I find my way comforting too. I'm still not sure why, to so many people, my beliefs are incomprehensible or wrong or bad. I'm still not sure why it seems so many people believe that people who believe as I do are to be pitied or censured or convinced of the error of our ways.
Oh well, one mystery at a time ;)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-07-17 07:18 pm (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2006-07-17 07:35 pm (UTC)But I wanted to say that I find your attitude toward it, and life and death and spiritually in general really admirable. That's pretty much my view on life/death/existence/god, though I'm still slightly agnostic. I guess it's just... Like what you said about the rainbow - the fact that there is a scientific exlanation doesn't make it any less of a miracle, you know? The fact that there are scientific processes behind everything that happens in life doesn't make any of it any less amazing. And it doesn't explain anything ultimately either. Because those very scientific proceses are miracles in and of themselves. Existence period.
And I guess I just feel like... That should really mean something. More. Somehow.
But maybe I'm just thinking of it too simply. It can mean something, but also be... just... exactly what there is is what there is... at the same time.
I'm completely not making sense now, am I?
Well, you said it all much more eloquently than I, anyway. I just wanted to say that I agree.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-18 02:06 pm (UTC)LOL - thanks :D
glad that you still have her with you in the way we *do* carry the people we love with us.
Yeah, it works for me. I respect that other people have different ways of dealing with loss, ways that work for them... but I think the part that puzzles me is that some people seem to believe that unless God's in there somewhere, it's just wrong. Whether it works for me or not.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-18 02:36 pm (UTC)Yeah, I was slightly agnostic too; still am, if you define agnosticism to mean you aren't totally 100% sure whether there's anybody/anything Up There or not. My belief/disbelief ratio was something like 60:40 in favour of believing in God or an afterlife. In the months after my mom's death, that changed gradually to something more like 5:95 the other way.
And it doesn't explain anything ultimately either. Because those very scientific proceses are miracles in and of themselves. Existence period.
Yeah, very true. Hence my own reluctance to state conclusively and categorically that there's nothing otherworldy running the universe. Because even if it's all just science... what makes that science work?
I'm completely not making sense now, am I?
LOL - hey, you're making sense to me. Which doesn't mean you're actually making sense; it may just be a case of folie a deux ;)