Yes, that is a clearly tasteless pun on the death of my mother.  If you are easily offended by the truth, you might want to stop reading now and go do something fun or useful.  I am totally serious here, so please do not lightly dismiss this warning.  The only reason that I am sharing it is because one of you asked me to do so, and I am complying because I believe there is a lesson here for all of us.  What I have to share might be helpful to many of those reading this.

 

Last chance.  Stop reading this thread and move on to something more entertaining. 

 

I mean it. 

 

Honest.

 

First of all, I want to thank those who have expressed sympathy to me and those of you who are thinking about me.

 

My mother died on Saturday, at the age of eighty-four and a half years.  As mothers go, she was no Donna Reed, which 99.9999999999% of mothers haven't a ghost of being anyway.  She had a terrible childhood and grew up to manifest the same, and worse, experiences on her own children.  My mother was brilliant.  She grew up in a time when intelligence testing was not as universally done as it is now, but I know her to be, well, brilliant.  If she hadn't chosen the dark side, she possibly could have changed the world as we know it.

 

If you were expecting the gory details that I usually provide, you won't find them here.  If you, at the end of this missive, feel that hearing about them would help you any way, you are welcome to write to me at the e-mail address that you use to contact me and I will answer any questions or concerns that you might have.  I am quite serious about this offer, as way too many people have experienced abuse at the hands of those to whom they have rightfully expected decent treatment.

 

One of the saddest aspects of my mother's life is that there was a time, when I was ten years old when she had the opportunity to get help but declined because of her shame.  Unfortunately, that shame did nothing to improve our lives.  Which brings us to today.  My mother's health issues of the past three years and her reliance on all of us did not improve her treatment of any of us, and her death has thrown my siblings into panicky and destructive behaviors.  For a couple of them, hateful would be an understatement.

 

I was supposed to fly out this afternoon to help with all of the arrangements that need to be made when someone dies.  I have had to delay that travel until next week in order to give everyone some time to calm down.  I have spent most of the past three days on the telephone, listening and supporting each person in turn.  Several of my siblings are not communicating at all, and that's fine; they need to be allowed to follow their own journey as best suits them.  So, if all settles down appropriately, I will be going to some of them next week.  Quite frankly, I would prefer to stay home, but am determined to not be selfish about this.

 

As for me, I'm the kooky one of the troop.  I'm not saddened at her death.  I am certain that I will find myself in some moment of experience where I would normally pick up the phone and call her to share some inane moment, but for now I am peaceful about her death.  All that I can think about is that she is now free of her tortured mind, her shameful childhood, her equally shameful parenting and her physical aflictions of the past three years. 

 

I feel joy that she has returned to her source, in whatever form that is meaningful for her.  I am glad that she is released from the pain and sorrow of her life and can now find solace in knowing that her life was the manifestation of the life she chose to lead before she was born into the flesh.  One of my sisters is very concerned that I am not sad enough, and I am trying to help her understand that my beliefs are about change and transformation and, most especially, joy, not the loss or ending that most people believe death to be.  I just now got off of the phone with her, but I think that she is still worried that I am not grieving properly.  Bless her loving, sisterly heart.  She is so dear to me in her concern for me.  I'm not sure that I was able to reassure her, but I did manage to pull some laughter out of her, so we are clearly on the pathway to understanding.

 

I am grateful for the loving expressions of support that people around me are offering, even though I'm not sad.  Whether it is a good thing or not, I am not going to pretend to some kind of deep sadness that I simply do not feel.  I'm not avoiding it, I just don't believe in it.

 

This is one of the biggest cliches known, but it is important to remind ourselves that when a person dies, our relationship with them continues.  This precept is one of those that we teach in our workshops, my friend and me. 

 

So. Now.  Why have I shared this tortured experience? 

 

Life is short and precious.  What we experience is exactly what we are destined (and in my beliefs, what we chose before manifesting in our current flesh) to experience. 

 

Things end.  They just do.  Or, perhaps they don't.  But, in the process they become something else.  Since I haven't any memory of exactly what that is, I am unable to share it.  Rudolph Steiner and I are at odds about many things, but this transformation thing is one on which we agree.

 

That is the lesson of my mother's very sad life, and the legacy and damage that she created in her children.  Please keep all of us in your prayers and use this story to insure that your life is what you need it to be.

 

If you disregarded my earlier warnings and have stuck through to the end of this unorganized mess, then you have my blessings and I hope that you share some of my beliefs.