By: Liza Dean
There is a hole in my heart that my mom filled and its always going to be there. I can never fill it. Ever. It will always be there for me to come back to and know that at one point, there was someone there who loved me fiercely with her whole being. Someone who’s blood is in me, who’s body I depended on for 9+ months and beyond. The hole reminds me of impossible sorrow, of what once was, of sadness, of grief so deep it makes my stomach churn. This hole I have to go to, sit by, be with, and honor. Thank you to this hole for once being filled. I see you as empty and sad and vast as you are now. I respect this hole that has changed my world. This hole is round and never ending. I want to fix this hole but I can’t. It will always be there. It is permanent.
My mom passed away suddenly in her sleep a little over 2 years ago. In some ways, I am grateful for this fact. In her lifetime she gave birth to 5 children, and within our family saw drug addiction, suicide attempts, the suffering and loss of her parents. Her death was one of the most peaceful parts of her life. However, the suddenness of her death left me in a complete state of shock. My therapist would say a “freeze” from the trauma of losing her so suddenly. I am just now waking from that freeze, which allows for me to write about this at all.
My mother was cheer. She was joy she was happiness and positivity. She was love and light and comfort and an endless sea of fullness. She didn’t care if I became a doctor or if I was a painter. She cared if my soul sang. She cared if I was blossoming and growing. Her values are how I evaluate my life. Am I blossoming? Or am I a bud, not nourished by its environment enough to sprout? Is my soul singing? Really singing, like Beyonce singing? Or is it assigning itself a place in the choir fearful of standing out, fearful of its own greatness?
This hole makes me feel that I am missing a piece of me. I am a person with a hole in their heart. Forever in this lifetime. And that’s the way it has to be. There’s no, “and this hole will be filled with something beautiful.” No. It’s there unfilled, vast and empty. No one can fix it. I can only know when I choose to step into this hole and be, and when I walk around it. Being cognizant each time I approach. Knowing when I am walking around it, and when I go in. Like a speleologist, I am aware of the conditions when it’s OK and appropriate to go in. I know I must go in to acknowledge the existence of what is real. I also know when I can’t go in, and that is OK too.
I know that love and the absence of love are two very powerful sensations. They both have lessons to teach. They both exist so strongly within the web of life that we participate in. So now, I have gone into the cave this evening. I peered around with my flashlight and sat. I tried to flee, but with guidance, I resisted. It was terrifying but nothing bad happened. I was able to learn about this space and it’s incredible and vast sorrow.
I am climbing back out of this hole, this cave in my heart, to go downstairs and talk with my dad. He is in his own process of grief, losing his life long partner. I can seek comfort in our shared process and try to just be the daughter, and not the counselor. My Dad will use his newly discovered sense of emotional intelligence to comfort me and offer words of love. I am grateful for his growth in this process. Tomorrow, I will revisit this hole and see what it brings. I will see how courageous my heart is. How my heart can be so brave and so fearful at the same time and still allow me to crawl in and out of the cave.
With all the love and admiration for this process and the vastness of grief.
___
Liza is a SF Bay Area based Integral Coach. She is the founder of Inner Wave Coaching, in which she works 1-1 with individuals and with groups. She holds a 100 ton captain's license and is a 200hr registered yoga teacher. Liza is passionate about helping others find balance and peace through her coaching practice.
