I’d say the message I took in, about how to handle my loss and my new life, was “Soldier on.” The future was obscured by worry. I couldn’t afford to give in to unpleasant emotions because I thought they would churn me like a tsunami wave and never stop.
As I mentioned last week, I spent the weekend at a retreat for women who lost their mothers before age 21. I looked forward to all of it: traveling to Los Angeles, staying alone in a tiny Airbnb camper-trailer, walking each day to the retreat house, and spending all day with women who have shared this traumatic, or at least seismic, event of mother loss. And I wondered how I would feel. I had forgotten one thing. When I sign up for something, I often resist the experience when the time comes. During the past 30 years, I’ve been to…
I’ll spend the weekend at a retreat with Motherless Daughters author (and support group creator) Hope Edelman and others. I don’t know what to expect to “get out of” it. I hear my inner eleven-year-old asking, “Will I cry?” because at Mom’s death, she did not.
I want more than three little words. I want to share specific positive reflections of each other. Tell the person something she surely doesn’t know: your favorite memories together and why they are so good.