When do we finally come to a place of acceptance in our lives?
Is it when we feel accepted by our peers? Does it happen when we try out for a particular sports team, or the church choir, or the school play, and we "make the cut"? Are we accepted if we get picked first for the dodge ball game on the blacktop at recess? When exactly do we accept, with open arms, what our path holds for us?
Someone very wise once said, "Acceptance is when you stop resisting what is."
What I have discovered fairly recently, is that the road of acceptance is paved with a few little bricks of truth: trust, faith, humility, and grace.
Accepting is like when you do one of those group building activities, and you are being asked to fall backwards into the arms of someone else. In theory, is sounds simple enough. Just fall back, and someone will catch you.
But our logical mind screams, "DON'T DO IT!!!" Our palms become wet with perspiration, we start to second guess the situation. How is this a TRUST fall exactly? And what if my our worst fear comes true? What if, for a moment, our partner becomes distracted, and fails to catch us? (which by the way, has probably never, ever happened...in the history of the Earth...ever).
But we are HUMAN BEINGS. And we question, and speculate, and guess, and debate, and make graphs, and power point presentations. We want quantitative PROOF that we will be caught.
When all we need to do is one thing: fall back and trust that we will be caught.
A very dear friend taught me this: Honor Your Process. And by doing so, you are not only accepting yourself, you are accepting others where they are in their Process.
Let me give you an example: most of you already know, that my Mama was diagnosed with Cancer over 2 years ago, and she is literally in the last hours of her life.
This situation has affected my tribe, my clan, my people, in a variety of ways. We are all at different places in our Process.
Tom's just recently shared, "The severity of the situation is just now hitting me."
Isabella told me, "I have just never felt sorrow like this Mom. I can't see out of the darkness. I'm so grateful for so many things, but I'm also so sad. I'm just all mixed up."
To which Abigail replied, "I feel guilty that I'm not as sad as Bella is, Mom. I just have all of this stuff to do...the mile in P.E., a paper that is due in Language, a test in Science, basketball practice, and trying out for the Bunny Bowl. Oh, and then there's the LAUNDRY." (Abby is essentially me, incarnate, when I am caring for my Mom in Santa Rosa. All legit 13 year old concerns, right? The verdict is still out on the Bunny Bowl :)
Emma's reaction is that of a quiet storm to this huge debacle known as Cancer. She is my child who resists outside physical comforting, but is the first one of the five, to give a complete stranger a hug. True story.
Cosette, although only just 8 years old, her bond with Nana runs deep as the river runs wide. Cozy and Nana could often be found sitting together on the couch, snuggled up close, doing cross stitch, or playing a game of Crazy 8's. Her eyes rim red with tears at the mere sound of the word, "Nana". It is an inconceivable loss.
And then there is me. Sometimes my emotions well up from deep within, and I have to literally force myself to ride out a chasm of helplessness and frustration over this disease, that is taking bits and pieces of my mom, like a puzzle that will never be put back together again.
A few weeks back, those emotions hit me like a rogue wave at Mavericks. All at once, with such strength and force, leaving me struggling to come up for a swallow of air, but just as I could see the surface, it pulled me right back down into darkness.
It happened after a day that Foxy had a sponge bath, and all of her dressings were changed by the amazingly gentle and serene Hospice aide and nurse.
You see, purplish and red tumors have decided to take up residence on my Mama's frail and weakening body. Tumors that must be dressed with bandages, because, as they become larger, they break through my Mom's skin, and weep. And the bed sore below her bum...it requires my Mom to roll over on her side, enduring pain without complaint, to change the dressing on yet another raw wound that will never heal.
I had had just about enough. And in the quiet of the early evening, I began weeping at my Mom's bedside. Uncontrollable sobs emerged from deep within a place that I did not even know existed. My body shook side to side, my eyes and face and nose, wet with tears and snot running together into one ocean of grief. The dam broke.
And do you know what my Mom said to me? Calmly, she whispered, "It's okay...it's okay," with complete and peaceful acceptance and grace. She was consoling ME.
Not wanting her to see me so upset, I kept muttering, "I'm sorry Mom, I'm so sorry."
And she softly replied, "You help me." I looked at her, confused. "You hold me."
And I couldn't help but think, how many times she had cuddled me close as an infant, and now she was so grateful for this seemingly, insignificant act, the ONLY thing, I could do, due to circumstance. We had come full circle.
In these last precious days with my Mom, I realize what an incredible gift I have been given. I have been allowed the gift of time to laugh, cry, and get to know this incredible woman, who brought me into the world. How blessed am I? I am forever changed by this grace filled experience. We are tethered now, Foxy and I. Forever.
Her glove of a body, has done it's job. Her work is here complete. And all I can do now, is sit by her side and hold her hand, and smooch her cheek. She has one toe in this world, but the rest of her is already in transition to the Other Side. And what a gift she has bestowed on every single person who she has touched.
My sweet Mama. She has no problem with the Trust Fall. She knows she will be caught, and is not seeking definitive proof. She is more than ready to fall backwards, and go Home.
