Just-right Stories

What a MASSIVE blessing that a Daring Way workshop happened yesterday. Imagine an entire calendar, twelve months, 52 weeks, 365 days (366 this year).  And it happened on a day that fell within the 10 days that my sister was hospitalized, a hospital admission, she made as clear as possible, was going to end fairly quickly & with her death.  Which it did.  

As I wrote in a 06/21/16 posting, the year following her death has been amazing.  The tendency of the just-right thing to show up in my life at the just-right moment in the just-right way amped up over the past months.

Over the past week, my thoughts have often turned to Mim.  The bittersweet feelings that always come on thinking about her, about us, about the family & life & countless "might have beens" have been part of my day.  

I wrote about realizing how easily I could have been locked into an "endless loop of regret, frustration & unacknowledged anger," trying - futilely  - to come to peace with the fact that we could have been such a great partnership & the reality that it could never happen.  

 

Sitting there yesterday, in the midst of an awesome group of women with an inspired workshop leader/facilitator, attending an event organized by a brilliantly creative team of ab fab females, in a beautiful room filled with all sorts of cultural touchstones & a knock-out view, it struck me that, on this first anniversary of that final hospitalization, I could be amping up a new endless loop, another spasm of searching that feels soul-satisfying yet ultimately goes no where.

And I pulled myself back.  Or, more accurately, I chose to step away.  To chose JOY.  

Felt bumbling, talking to John about it later, trying to explain the siren call that was pulling me to share experiences of Mim in an attempt to gain clarity.  

Imagine, I asked him, reading an intricately-plotted, skillfully written mystery novel, a story that utterly engages you, that sweeps you into the action, makes you connect with the characters, makes you CARE.  And the end leaves you in limbo, wondering what had happened, who had actually done what, the identity of the good guys & the bad guys, if there even were good & bad guys, without a clue about all that you'd just read.  No clue about what you'd invested all that time & energy & caring in following. The author is dead, so unless someone discovers a manuscript that spells it all out, there's no way you're going to know for sure what happened.

Yesterday, between the event & talking to John, I connected the timing & my intention to use writing as a form of spiritual smudging.   Writing about wanting to purify "my personal space through an intentional, respectful, honoring of my sister.... (sharing) aspects of her being, at least as I experienced them," my unspoken expectation was to get to that place of knowing what it had been all about through new-found clarification.

Sorry, kiddo - ain't ever going to happen.  I am never going to get a clue about what it was all about, about why people acted as they did, apparently felt as they did.  For me, the mystery will always remain a confusing, jumbled mismash.  

Which doesn't mean I won't write, won't share.  Because, for me, there are things that need to be put out there, even if they make some people uncomfortable. 

Like the reality that my sister didn't like me.  My family didn't like me.  Well, it wasn't that they didn't like me.  For that to be, I'd have to register on their reality radar & I sure as shootin' didn't.  

That sounds harsh, but actually explains a lot.  Their response wasn't personal.  For freakish reasons no one never openly acknowledged & quite possibly never understood, I just wasn't ... real to them.  Use that as the starting premise & everything they (& others) said & especially everything they wrote makes complete sense.  What so many fail to understand, is it wasn't personal.  To be personal, I would have to have been a real person to them. 

 

It makes no sense, but almost nothing in my experience of my sibs & parents did.  The one thing I know in my bones is that Mim was terribly abused as a little child.  

Was this ever discussed, even indirectly?  Never.  BUT all you have to do is look at Mim's life to see that something happened.  I knew it long before hearing Brene talk about how cynicism, criticism, (the need to be) cool & cruelty are major protections against vulnerability (and against living a wholehearted life).  


That abuse, whatever it might have been, marked more than my sister.  Whatever it was that happened, it hallmarked my family, down to this very day.  THE primary goal within our family was to not see, not share, never speak anything that might bring up anything that might lead to anything that might point to something that might unintentionally uncover what must never be revealed.  

Sadly, while I could have been a boon to my family, they experienced me as peril.  I was born the thing they'd fear most - a seeker.  And for decades, I hadn't a clue there was a great terrible something buried deep deep deep that must stay hidden.  There I was, unknowing Twit of the Universe, assuring my sister, my mother, "It's okay - it's safe to share with me," totally oblivious that I was, to them, the most massively unsafe person on the face to the planet.

It's would be impossible to see the reality of all that & feel anything but swept with love & compassion for everyone caught up in such intense, unattended brokenness. 

This is not to say that I won't share aspects - including disturbing ones - of my sister.  Use them in connection with something Brene discusses.  No one could be more fortified than Mim against vulnerability.  Mim was terrified by everything.  Everything - especially good things - presented to her as potential sources of unforeseeable, inevitable trauma.  

But writing as form of spiritual cleansing - that's been done, thanks to the combination of writing some heartfelt posts, resting in the midst of incredible women, focusing on the insights of the brilliant Brene.  Happened far faster than I imagined, but am considering the special place in my head heart spirit, the place that's my instant retreat, duly smudged.


Mim had a wondrous card captioned, "Death is a wild night & a new road."  The words were part of her memorial tribute.  It gave me a lot of comfort, thinking of my adored sister finally finding that new road, her true road.  

It took until yesterday, sitting with those remarkable women all channeling Brene Brown, to realize that I am free to launch myself on an endless loop of clarifying the forever oblique obtuse obscure ~OR~ choosing to glory in being on my own true road.  

Giving thanks for all who helped set me here.  I pledge to be unstinting in my love for them, acknowledge the sorrow I feel for all they suffered, without wrapping myself in that same invulnerability cloak they felt compelled to keep snug around their heart.

Prepare yourselves, because I will be using Mim in future Brene-inspired postings.  It can't be helped, because there's no describing my response to what Brene shares about armoring up against vulnerability without bringing Mim into it.  

 

Stay in balance through realizing that wretched things happen in order to serve as lessons. And that is the attitude with which I will share - to enlighten & even empower, not to criticize & judge.

Yesterday, was once again touched with the just-right thing showing up at the just-right time in the just-right way.  Looking for something related to the workshop, I came across a sheaf of white paper with comments sent by friends & relatives this time last year, to be shared with Mim.  

It is a sadness that I can't describe her the way so many of them did, she never let me in.  But it gives me special joy to close this posting with THEIR view of my unique, complex, extraordinary sister:

Joann (her birth name), you were one of my heroes as a kid.  Thanks for giving me guidance & vision when I really needed it (even if you didn't know you were doing it at the time!).

Mim, may you truly experience all heavenly joys from the life of service you have given so well to others in mind.

MIM - accepting, friendly, caring, warm, helper, coach, giving, patient.  Holding you in my thoughts.

Blessings on you.

Dear Mim - Blessings on you for being an important gift to us on our spiritual journey.

Death is just a child come to take up by the hand & lead us gently away.  I love you dearly.

Mim - thank you for your wonderful leadership when I was just a kid.  What a gift!

We are sending so much love & warmth.

All our love, now & always.

Mim - Thoughts of you always make my spirit smile.

Mim - We will never forget the day at Laurel when we were saying goodbye to Frank, and you said (this is not a direct quote, but something like it) he was the person who brought you from the back of the room to the front of the room.

Death is a wild night and a new road - Mim, once more, as you have so many time before, you scout a new adventure.

Thinking of you & loving you.  I will miss your Christmas cards.  Happy journey!

Many, many blessings on your travel!

Wishing you a great adventure as you prepare for the great beyond. 

Mim, we send our love & this quote from Jeremiah 29:11 - "For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace... to give you a future & a hope."  

"This is the day the LORD has made, let us rejoice & be glad in it."