There are some things in my life that bring me to a full sweaty mess.
There are many more things that bring me to my knees in a puddle of tears or a need to vomit.
Tonight it was tears.
I went back to Hospice House where my mom died, with dad at her side, on December 26th.
I felt a pull to go back, but also a humbling fear that brought me to tears. I knew that I needed to do this for myself. I knew I needed to overcome my overwhelming feelings of grief and love, despair and compassion that Hospice House brings up for me.
I drove my car north followed by a bright, clear moon and clean roads, as I did many times last fall visiting mom and dad.
I arrived at Hospice House.
I entered the very familiar building and went to a chair to await the seminar about grief and the holidays. I tried not to look too hard, but it was the same.
I sat. I cried. I listened to great strategies on Christmas in the midst of grief.
I wrote a card with my mom’s name on it and placed it on the memory tree.
I had some juice and cookies and took a wander down the hall to room number eight.
Yup, it’s still there.
Yup, mom still isn’t.
Unless she’s now a man. A bald-headed one.
Nope, no mom here on earth.
A checked out the fish tank down the hall.
I walked back to the living room and put another name on the tree for my Auntie Gail. I remembered her putting her son, Michael, on the memory tree last Christmas. My cousin was killed in a motor vehicle accident many years ago. I put Michael’s tag on the tree and told him how much his mom loves him.
An Overcomer of my emotions.
An Overcomer of fear.
An Overcomer of doing the hard stuff.