Howard, the Sanctuary owner and Huachuma shaman, with his pet money Rufa
I went to NV last week to see my mom.
This was the first trip, funeral aside, to my parents’ place now that it is just mom’s place. Just mom.
While I was there (and Z came with, thank heavens) I really did have a fantastic time. Mom is a saint. She’s just all sweetness and love, innocence and pain. She’s honest about how much it hurts not to have him anymore, but then again, she’s not. What she shares is just a smidgen of what she experiences. I know this. Because it’s the same for me.
When I came home, I caved. Since then, I felt a rise, but today – I fell back in. Leaving her standing in her garage, waving goodbye and trying not to cry – just thinking about it kills me. She’s all alone, but yet, her life is full of people who love her. But it’s not the same. It’s just not the same.
I am crying my eyes out right now, and my brain wants to attach it all to Daddy. But it’s not that simple. Of course I miss him, more than I even understand, but these tears are for mama. I asked the Universe to please give me some of her pain, and now here it is, swirling and trying to devour me whole. I can be enlightened about it from a distance, knowing it’s a gift, and treasure how beautiful it is to love someone so much. But I can’t help but let it drown me, in this moment — it’s almost taking my breath. I feel this seething energy lingering right at the base of my throat, like there are demons just waiting to erupt.
Duty calls us so loudly, every day, to fill in the responsibilities. To do what we’re supposed to. I don’t want these things anymore. I just want to scream and cry. And maybe move to Vegas, to be closer to mom. I am consumed with this idea. All I know is, something must be done. Whether it’s changing the world or just remembering to breathe. I just can’t feel this forever.
