“There are two kinds of guilt: the kind that drowns you until you’re useless, and the kind that fires your soul to purpose.” ― Sabaa Tahir
Tonight I sat and watched my mom’s memorial service. It hurt – a lot, but I felt like I needed to do it. Why? I don’t actually have an answer to that. Perhaps I felt the need to re-connect with her. I spent a good portion of the afternoon staring out of the dining room window, watching a storm roll in – skies grey, wind pumping and the trees dancing so ferociously they looked like they may uproot. My mom hated the stormy weather because she lived in what could essentially be labelled an attic. It had leaks and broken windows and when Cape Storms set in, it rattled her to the core, emotionally and literally. It scared her – I know this. She never actually said it, but it showed.
My mother was a simple woman – complicated, but simple if that makes any sense. She had no real desire for worldly things; she found her joys from all the seemingly obsolete things which actually matter in this life yet emotionally she was extraordinarily complex. Two months after my son Jude was born, I began the journey through a pretty ugly divorce. My mom was not particularly happy where she was living at the time either. I came up with the idea that the two of us get a place together - and we did. This was the second time my mom had lived with me in my adult years. It was not a good time in my life and I think we both needed one another. After eight years of marriage, I began the path of finding my feet as a single mother. I suppose, in hindsight – much of this brought out the careless in me because essentially, I was building a life from the bottom up again.
It took me a moment, but after some time I realised that getting divorced was the best thing that had ever happened to me. For the first time in over a decade I began to feel like myself again and I loved it. I don’t think my mom shared the same sentiment though. To her, I think it felt like she was “losing me” on some level. After two years, this began to take its toll on our relationship. It got so bad that we were living in the same house but were no longer speaking – not even a “good morning”. This, beyond everything else was hardest for me because my mom was my best friend.
Eventually, I made the decision and asked her to leave – to move out. My brothers did not speak to me for about a year after that, although – having said that, I didn’t see any of them opening their doors. I made a call – yes, it was a harsh one… but I valued the relationship I had with my mom and I wanted more than anything to find a way back to that “place”. Long story short – that was the reason she ultimately ended up living where she did. It was not a suitable place for her to be living, not at her age... Sure, our relationship returned to being great… and eventually we set up a room for her in our house so she could just sleep over on the nights she was there, but I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for allowing her to spend her last years living like that.
No, I did not know they were her last years – I always thought we would have more time - Thought that we would be able to get a place which afforded her a space of her own on the same piece of land… something like that. Like my eldest brother said at her memorial… is that not always the damn problem, we always live thinking we have “more time”. We didn’t.
Not giving my mom what I could have, what I know she craved in her last years will forever be my greatest regret. Sure, I nursed her in her last weeks – that is not the same thing. She would have given me more – I know that. I was selfish. Selfish in the preservation of our relationship, but I starved her of personal happiness in the process. There is nothing I can do about it now other than learn from it. Humans, I think are selfish these days by default. We are not born this way, but we are conditioned so – sadly, and I realise this. I suppose that counts for something?!
As I sit here and write this, I contemplate an individual who is showing me how to be less selfish merely through their actions… because that is what counts at the end of the day. I can fly off the handle and lose my shit – it is refreshing to be reminded of what actually matters before running out “guns blazing”. My mom used to do that for me… I miss her calm approach to even the most heated situations, but I appear to have been graced with someone incredible who is willing to do same. I am blessed. Very.
We ALL have regrets, or rather “lessons”. I try not to focus on the word regret too much because the reality is that ALL of our so-called mistakes have something positive to offer if we take the time to see beyond the chaos and emotion. Life does not come with a handbook, we just have to wing it! We need to be receptive to the decisions we make and simultaneously mature enough to acknowledge when those decisions were NOT the best ones we have could have made. THAT is what counts… not the “mistake/decision” itself.
“It was so risky and so scary, and yet at the same time, so beautiful. Maybe the truth was, it shouldn't be easy to be amazing. Then everything would be. It's the things you fight for and struggle with before earning that have the greatest worth. When something's difficult to come by, you'll do that much more to make sure it's even harder -if not impossible- to lose.”― Sarah Dessen
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Until next time...
Much Love from Cape Town, South Africa xxx
Jaynielea
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