Something I so deeply remember beforre my experience of my mother passing was this one moment during a morning typically undisturbed. I was around 14 or 15 at the time and still learning to be comfortable in my own skin. So not the most confident in my own agency, as my agency was this sapling still growing.
On that morning, I arose from my slumber, rubbing my eyes from the light that nudge me awake. I then became transported directly the wailing cries of my mother. And in that moment, I felt the urgency as at the time of waking I did not draw any separation from what I heard and what I felt.
As each cry thrummed to my hearing. My heart sank with each wave of calling, "What is happening?" I continued to fall in reflection of the could-be's of possibility until I heard her moan and groan: "someone please help me" in that voice that speaks to her deep helplessness she felt within.
Hearting sinking to gut, I took the call of my gut, lurching up from my bed to support my mother. As I contemplated: "Could Dad be there?"
And as I opened the door, there I stood gazing at my mother in bed, no father in sight.
Immediately in sight of my presence, my mother called to "Ryan! Can you help mumma?"
"I am having chills. I need some hot water."
"Okay mom" I said back in a voice of concern seeing her so helpless when usually I felt so relieved by her presence of uninhibited expressing and joyful care. Her presence giving me strength and inspiration for courage being the quiet child I once was.
Though at the time, I was not quite a fan of tea and how I was unfamiliar with the practice of heating up water with a kettle, I ventured downstairs in a rush to help my mother meet her need. With all the pain I could deeply tell she was feeling.
That pain battered me in this active strength as I navigated to the kitchen and found that, conveniently, the kettle activated with the press of a button. So, I heated up the water, still hearing the pain of my mother deeply echo through the house when her chills returned again and again.
In my patience, I found the water to be steaming and carefully poured out the water from the kettle to a cup. In that shake-y way that both from my nervousness in my own ability to help my mother and simply not being able to lift a kettle with ease. As the kettle was so full in eagerness to enter the hurting body of my mother, reflecting my own as I realized I poured the cup to my satisfaction.
Then, I abrupting came to the realization that though I wanted to provide my mother with a cup full, the journey would be tumultuous.
Going upstairs and balancing the cup of hot water to my mother would be a challenge. A challenge in a determination composed by a patience. As I wanted to get this water to my mother quickly, I quickly realized that I could end up spilling the hot water and burn myself.
So, I took this challenge up with this fierce gentleness. Fierce because I dearly wanted meet my mother's need for support. And gentle because I did not want to spill exactly what I had prepared.
Though in that adolescent way, I found a way to spill a bit on my wrist, realizing I needed a bit more patience in balance to my determination. Realizing that without my careful attention, my care could contribute to more pain.
As I carefully walked up the last flight of stairs, almost in this stacatto as I tuned into how even my heart's beats created this drum of desperation in my steps towards my mother.
Before I could even register that I had surprisingly made it, I celebrated through the simple act of giving to my mother in pain something she so dearly longed for.
And to this day, I reflect upon how her expression of appreciation and relief. Even beyond what she expressed, but what the moment meant to the both of us created this sense I so am savouring to this day. I felt this great sense of relief that washed upon me. The extraordinary that I could give myself fully to someone in pain. And by doing so, I could so lose myself in the moment that I gained a sense of togetherness only by inviting in the pain I saw as family.
Though this story is quite literally about my mother, I am seeing the value to see our pain as family. As it gives permission to us to invite generations of ourselves to face the sacredness of giving to when pain so wants to be greeted. This challenge of giving ourselves fully to a time of pain that is insufferable alone yet is so deeply relieving and gifting when we meet pain together.
Pain as family. That is such a deep-felt premise when our glass culture has dislocated ourselves in the idea that pain separates. And how that premise breaks down in divine disintegration realizing how pain transforms when we fully enter into the giving that is so required in facing times of pain.