Friday, June 22, 2012

Waves.

Mom passed away on February 12, 2012.  Since then I haven't been able to blog, I haven't really been able to take the time to stop and think about things.  That is until recently.  I have decided to take a short period of time off of medical school to process the loss of mom.  Four months late, but still equally cleansing.

I kayaked in La Jolla, California this week.  My uncle Ted and I try to do fun activities like this whenever I come out to see he and my aunt Molly.  As we navigated the waves in and out of the shore it made me start to think.  Grief is a lot like the waves on the ocean.  To which you say to me "that isn't an original thought at all, Mariah."  This analogy has certainly been made many times in the past.  But what triggered this thought to me was not the ebb and flow of waves, the coming and going of emotion, but rather the tricky way that ocean waves behave.  A wave that looks huge and terrifying can be completely manageable, while a wave that seems silly enough to turn my back to can knock me flat and send water rushing up my nose.  I would welcome a peaceful ebb and flow over the erratic and unpredictable nature of grief.

I think of mom all of the time.  Today it was during a Zumba class that I took with my aunt Molly.  We were dancing in front of a mirror to Latin songs while the instructor lead us in moves that my body just was not made to do.  I thought of the hours and hours that mom and I would spend in our living room doing Richard Simmons Sweatin' to the Oldies.  I imagined that she would absolutely LOVE this class and we would be laughing our heads off every second of the way.  This is one of those manageable waves, the ones that I can dig in and dive through and feel ok on the other side.

The other kind of waves, those hit me when I least expect it.  I am learning now to embrace them and take them on as they come.  I am confident she gave me the strength I need to tackle anything that comes my way whether I feel prepared or not.  I guess most importantly I am learning that every crappy wave that hits and sends me spinning is a chance to stop, think of her, and remember just how glad I am to have had the time I did with her.  

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