Coral’s Healing Room at Coralsblog.com 505-269-9242 iwritetohealmyself@gmail.com I rise early. I go to bed early. If you need me, I will make myself available to you.

Go call your Mom…

 

1C26C4BF-0742-4949-A263-6129546BB505.jpegGood morning everyone. What a beautiful sound to wake up to the rain this morning! The rain reminds me that there is hope, cleansing and newness around the corner. Wash I the fuck away I say!

My Dad and Cheryll have been cleaning and sorting and parting with our Moms things. Hundreds of pairs of shoes and clothes, all on their way to new homes. Red hat clothes and bling…all in search of a new queen. Eye drops and peppermints…lifesaver breath mints and Clinique bottles…in the pockets of her clothes. I am happy for them, to begin again, truly I am. For me though, I cannot even articulate the pain and unrest in me that the void of my Mother has left. I am like a tiny little lesbian prince, born to a queen among queens. We fit in the same clothes for most of my life and yet we didn’t. We often wore the same size and yet our styles were so different. Mostly because she had style and cared a great deal about how she looked. I, on the other hand, am always happiest in my 501 jeans and a ringer t-shirt and a ball cap.

Losing my Mom has definitely been the greatest loss I have ever endured. The pain of her absence ricochets through my soul and leaves me breathless. The realization that her things are finding new homes and her home is filled with someone else’s things just feels too surreal to speak of. I feel my Mom this morning in this rain. I feel her sitting with me and I try to enjoy our time, instead of dreading her exit so much that I miss the visit all together. My Mom was larger than life in life and she is much larger now. I no longer hear the clicking of her heals or the twang in her voice. There will be no Sunday brunch tomorrow and Albuquerque Little Theatre resumes without her. Something about it all hasn’t come together enough for me to let go. Something about the pain and the discomfort that I’ve been in makes me miss her more.

I never prepared myself, in any way, even though I feared it my whole life…to lose my Mom. I never looked far enough ahead to see a picture or a space without her in it. I never entertained the idea that she could actually die, of natural causes, before me. My Mom never wanted to be old and she died pretty young. I always thought I would die young and I feel so fucking old. Losing my Mom aged me. Pictures reveal that. Losing my Mom changed me and time shows that. Every morning lately, I wake up and begin again, the process of letting her go, as I realize again, that she is gone. I cannot ever get that time back. I will never be able to time travel backwards to touch her again, to see her and hear her and offend her in some way, again. This brings me to us all…this morning, here in the healing room.

You know that call you’ve dialed to the last number at least a hundred times and not completed? What about that letter in your heart…you know the one you’ve been writing for as long as you can remember to someone who may or may not even read it? What about that conversation that you’ve had over and over and over again, with yourself, as though to rehearse for the real convo one day with someone you’ve been dying to sit down with? What about that apology you want to offer? Maybe you just need. Few minutes to speak your heart, to heal you both? Sitting here, feeling the way I do without my Mom, I am going to encourage you to call your Mom. Knowing that I will never hear her voice again, I am going to encourage you to speak. That conversation….I am going to ask you to find the strength to have that conversation. We do run out of time. People have many cliches and we repeat them, as though they are our own. No excuses. No cliches. Make the call. Hear their voice…no texting here my friends…pick up the phone and make that call. You know….the one that I cannot ever make again? You’ll be glad you did.

I really do not have regrets with my Mom…only that we didn’t have more time. We fit a lot into 42 years and I am so thankful that we did. Losing her wasn’t even on my radar, and then she was just gone. I think it happens a lot, and so I wanted to encourage you, as I sit here without my Mom, to call your Mom. I know you’ve been going back and forth. I know it’s her turn to call you. I know she doesn’t ever call you. Fucking call her, would you? Call him. Don’t text. Hear that voice…the one I am dying to hear and can’t hear ever again. Go out there and get what you need to heal. Who knows? You might actually heal someone else too.

Have a beautiful day everyone! Go call your Mom! I love you!

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