I was gut-kicked in the heart May 26^th at 2:21 p.m., slapped up side my spirit, and my eyes exploded with tears as the voice on the other end of the telephone line said, “Barbara has died.” In that moment the clocks stopped and all of the mirrors went black to mark her flight from the planet. At  2:21p.m. May 26^th the axis of the world tilted and I held on tightly so I wouldn’t be lost in a vast and dark sadness.

I was busy getting ready to go to my Jazzercise class. The phone rang and I grabbed it as I continued to pull on my socks.  I didn’t recognize the voice that said  “may I speak to Patricia?’ I replied that I was her and he continued “this is Shaun and my brother Eric asked that I call and tell you that our mother, Barbara, died”. Rarely am I at a loss for words, speechless and stunned simultaneously. But I was, and still am, as I write this impromptu posting.  I stammered   “what happened?” He responded “we don’t know… it was a heart attack or stroke”. Tears welled up in my eyes and poured into my heart.  I repeated again “what happened?”  as though I hadn’t heard him the first time, followed by when is the funeral, where will it be, how is Eric? “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, and he is okay” was his calm and dispassionate reply.  I could hear, sense and feel his uneasiness as I fought to gain my composure. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Shaun since his father Gary’s funeral six or seven years ago.   I remember telling him  know how much I loved his mother and how much she meant to me, I had just talked to her she was so happy. I stopped myself to catch my breath and to pat my emotions in place. There was silence on the other end of the line. He said,” I think she is going to be cremated and Grandmother might have a memorial or something.” It wasn’t what he said that saddened me, but how he said it that clued me that our call was done.  I mumbled please call me and let me know as soon as you find out if and when there will be a service. He said he would and I thanked him, and before I could say anything else, the phone went dead. The only link I had to what would happen to one of my dearest and oldest friends was gone.  I immediately called the number back but only a recorded message greeted me. The finality of the call symbolized for me in that moment that Barbara was gone.  It seemed like for such a wonderful woman there should have been more fanfare, more weeping more, more, more. Barbara or Barbarella as I called her had left the planet.

Barbara and I met as young women/girls and mothers in Anchorage Alaska in 1978. We were kindred spirits shopping, partying and experimenting and experiencing all the dos and don’ts of life. There was nothing we wouldn’t try and rarely did we try to talk one another out of our colored shenanigans.  Throughout the years we grew up separated by various moves across the country. We reconnected thirteen years ago when I moved to Texas. The heartfelt love we shared that eluded time deepened even though we were totally different people on diverse paths. The wonderful thing about friendship I learned from Barbara is that judgment is only a word and it never interfered with our love for one another.  I accepted her and treasured who she was in my life. She made it better and she gave me the opportunity to practice unconditional love. Over the years, especially after her husband Gary’s death from brain cancer, Barbarella’s life spiraled into depression and a grief that never lifted.  During those years my home became her sanctuary. Ever major holiday she would show up at my door laden with gifts, delicious food, movies, flowers and anything else she could afford to bring and share. Her joy was giving to me and my joy was her generosity that taught me how to give more in my own life. In her brokenness she helped me to be whole. I suppose that is why I am so saddened by her death. Not that she is gone in the physical body, but that I could never reach that part of her soul that was so wounded that she didn’t treat herself as well as she did me.

As I look back over the past three months my intuition alerted me that something was wrong.  We had planned to share Valentine and Easter together as usual. She didn’t show up and her phone was disconnected again.  I wrote her a letter and a week later she called me from a phone booth and told me things were getting better and she would see me on her birthday.  As May 9^th grew closer I hadn’t heard from her and still had no way to contact her.  I decided to sent her birthday box filled with wonderful, delicious multiple goodies. I knew she would be surprised but I wanted her to know how very much she meant to me. I can still hear her voice as she giggled into the phone and thanked me over and over for thinking of her and for being her one and only friend. Her joy was my joy and I was so grateful I hadn’t forgotten her birthday.  She shared that her life was changing.  She sounded better then she had since her rock Gary had died those many years before. We gossiped and laughed about a new (younger)  guy she had met, her 26 pound weight loss, and how much better she was beginning to feel. I hadn’t heard such joy from her in many years.  We ended by repeating how much we loved one another and that we would see each other soon. When I hung up I shared with my husband how happy she sounded and how happy I was for her. All of the years of misery, self recriminations and abuse she had heaped on herself during the years after Gary’s death seemed to have finally been let go. I thought about her all that day and smiled that she had finally seemed to take her life back.

I still don’t know how my friend died and maybe I never will. I have to remind myself that it’s not important. What is important is that she lived.  Her spirit of generosity and unconditional love for me will forever be part of who I am.  Her goodness and light live in me. That is the blessing I can wrap around myself when I think of her. Today, though, I am going back to my bed and I am going to lay down with my grief, but not before I say to you, nothing or no one is forever.  Whoever you love, and wherever they are, take a moment and tell them how much you love them. It could be the last time.

Two Poems for Barbara:

Finally

by Margaret Shepard

When I finally hang these clothes of flesh to dry

When my tracks have faded in the sand

When my clear voice becomes a whisper then silent

When my warm touch has grown cold as ice

When the rhythm of my heart become a tireless echo

When my name has meant all that my heart has contained

And my laughter and tears blend into one as a hearty memory

You won’t cry

You will only weep tears of joy

You will only weep at a life full of loving, laughter, fear, work and joy

You won’t cry!!

Poem by Mary Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!

“The greatest misfortune of my life has come!” These words were written by a monk after the death of his mother, and reflect exactly how I felt when I lost my mother on March 28^th 1992.  The following poem echoes that loss;

“That year, although I was still very young

My mother left me.

And I realized

That I was an orphan.

Everyone around me was crying.

I suffered in silence…

Allowing the tears to flow,

I felt my pain soften.

Evening enveloped Mother’s tomb,

The pagoda bell rang sweetly.

I realized that to lose your mother

Is to lose the whole universe.”

The poem is part of a Buddhism tradition outlined in the Rose Ceremony in the Plum Village Chanting Book. The entire reading evokes sweet memories of my mother. Her sweet, tender commitment to loving me from the inside out taught me to love myself.  The fragrance of her love fills my soul with joy. She influenced my life in meaningful ways that included her wisdom, knowledge, strength, patience, love, generosity and kindness. Without my mother I could have never known how to love. It’s because of her love for me that I learned to love all living beings. Compassion, understanding and forgiveness – all practiced by my mother and passed to me.

Mother, Mere, Maji, Urdu, Madre, Makuahine, Nanay, Anya, Ibu, and Matka.  No matter what language, whoever has a mother has the most beautiful gift life has to offer.

Mother’s Day dates back to the ancient Greeks, who held festivals to honor mother of the Gods, Rhea.  Early Christians celebrated mother’s festival on the fourth Sunday of Lent to honor Mary, the mother of Christ.  That date evolved into Mothering Sunday. The colonist whom settled in American discontinued Mothering Sunday because of the lack of time. But a smart and probably tired woman by the name of Julia Ward Howe organized a day for mothers devoted to peace. In 1907 Anna M. Jarvis a Philadelphia teacher initiated a movement to set up a national Mother’s Day in honor of her mother. Ms. Jarvis’ tireless commitment to establish Mother’s Day was realized in 1914 when President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed the Second Sunday in May as a national holiday in honor of mothers.

The increasing practice of gift giving and commercialization of Mother’s Day was not Ms. Jarvis intention but nonetheless has become an integral part of Mother’s Day. The ritual of buying instead of showing love cheats mothers who need or desire nothing more than the acknowledgement that she is appreciated. In the Plum Village Chanting Book it is written eloquently, “If you love your mother, you don’t have to do anything. You love her; that is enough.”

This Mothers Day I suffer great pain.  My one and only child, my son, has not spoken to me since September 2007. He called me on a Sunday afternoon and told me succinctly, clearly, and unemotionally that he no longer wanted me in his life. I was as shocked, hurt, and saddened then as I am now writing this.  How could my only child that I love so intensely not want me in his life? His rationale and explanation were muddled and so unlike the loving boy-child I had loved all of his life and all of mine.  I knew as he spoke there was no room for discussion – he had only called to inform me of his decision to cut me out of his life.  What could I have done to hurt him so? What could I have done for him to sever me from his life? I don’t know but I do know I would have, if I could have, changed his heart.  I would have fought harder to keep him on the phone.  I would have crawled across the miles to get near him and to hold him close to remind him how our hearts beat as one from the day I laid eyes on him. I would have moved heaven and earth and made a deal with God and become a mother stalker if I had known that Sunday afternoon the loss I feel now.  My mother told me that children should not die before their parents, and now I know what she meant. The black hole in my heart is bottomless as I mourn the physical loss of my son.  I remind myself that this challenge will make me stronger that it serves some higher purpose and has nothing to do with me.  My son has separated from me but he cannot stop me from loving him. My love reaches across the miles and hugs him close every moment of everyday. I pray that he is happy and excelling in life.  My mother’s love was unconditional for me and so is my love for my son, though I miss him terribly.

I am ending this posting with an excerpt from Plum Village Chanting Book, “Tonight, when you return from school or work, or the next time you visit your mother, go to her room calmly, silently, with a smile, and sit down beside her.  Without saying anything, make her stop working, and look at her for a long time.  Look at her well, in order to see her well, in order to realize she is there, alive, sitting beside you.  Then take her hand and ask her this short question, “Mother, do you know something?” She will be a little surprised, and will ask you, smiling, “What, dear?” Continuing to look into her eyes with a serene smile, tell her, “Do you know that I love you?” Ask her this question without waiting for an answer. Even if you are thirty, forty years old, or older, ask her simply, because you are the child of your mother. Your mother and you will both be happy, conscious of living in eternal love. And tomorrow when she leaves you, you will not have any regrets.”

This Mother’s Day wherever you may be, may you be loved.

From my heart to yours, Happy Mother’s Day.