This month’s blog isn’t much about art. It’s about acceptance.
I turn 68 in November. My mother’s mother was only a year older when she died, her death one of the tragedies of my early teen years. I knew she was sick, I saw her every day, but she forbade her children (my mother and her two brothers) from letting anyone else know she was dying of metastatic breast cancer. I didn’t understand what was happening.
Instead I lived in this unspoken world of silent tragedy, until my father picked me up from school one day and told me she was gone. I never said goodbye, or told her how much I loved her.
I’m seared by the memory of walking into her bedroom, in those confusing last days, to see her at her dresser, head down on folded arms, crying from what I now know was terrific pain. Or how she sat up as I came in, tears in her eyes, acting as though everything were fine.
“You slip into this world, and one day you slip out,” she told my mother. She wanted to slip out. And she did, silently, and I had to accept not only the fact of her death but the feelings of betrayal and abandonment that the silence left.
Responsibilities
This year my mother died, after a long and abundant life. And of course I have to accept that she is gone.
I miss her every day. If I travel, I have the impulse to call her to let her know I arrived safely. When I come in our building from the garage, I want to walk on down the hall past the elevators to her condo, to see her face light up and to get a hug before I head upstairs. I loved her very much, and always will.
But for a very long time what I had to accept was the responsibility I had for her care, and for my father also until his death, over so many years. It often felt like a prison; I did not want her to die, but I was desperate for an escape that wasn’t there.
The last couple of years I quit fighting, quit trying to escape into addictive behaviors, and gradually learned to accept things as they were. Life went better, I managed to carve out enough time for myself not to feel like I was drowning, and even began to date a little and introduce some dates to my mother. I’m grateful for that time and glad I did not self-destruct completely. Somehow I managed to take care of her through difficult then better times, until the end.
Consequences
I have to accept the consequences of a decision I made in January, to seek short-term companionship on an app.
I have to accept the physical scars from the resulting assault by a serial rapist, still in jail awaiting trial for assaults on multiple victims; the damage to my psyche; the long silence from the police and District Attorney regarding other potential charges involving yet more victims; ongoing anonymous threats by phone and text trying to force me to withdraw charges or change my testimony; and the looming trial of the rapist, whenever that will be, the uncertainty of which makes planning the next few months difficult.
If there is a trial, I will testify.
Illness
At the moment I have to accept I cannot walk. I had surgery (my third) on my left big toe, this time to give up on saving the main joint. The surgeon fused bones together to eliminate the joint and the constant pain I have felt for many years. In order to heal, I cannot walk on the foot for 4-6 weeks, and then must wear a restrictive boot for another few months. Eventually, I may do the same on the other foot.
I have gotten pretty good with crutches and a knee scooter. But I have also gotten much better at accepting help. Wonderful friends got me to and from the hospital, and cooked, and brought things from the grocery. Another friend and several of my mother’s old caregivers were with me around the clock the first few days after surgery, as I was not supposed to be alone. People have come by from time-to-time.
I’ve always been self-reliant, an only child and mostly a solo act, more inclined to help others than to be helped. I’ve learned it’s a good thing to accept love, in all its many forms.
The Love That Is
I’ve gotten close to someone who, in other circumstances, I might have wanted to see romantically. But I have come to treasure this time of mutual support and platonic friendship. Rather than pine away over what might have been, I’m grateful for what is. Thanks to his friendship, life is not so lonely.
Limitations
There is a local organization I helped found last year, and in which I hoped to play a more significant role. But due to the events of the year, and my openness about them, I found I was not able to be as publicly involved as I had expected.
Instead I have taken on some of the non-public “grunt” work of keeping minutes, drafting documents, and of supporting the organization and its youth scholarship program financially. I have to accept this is the right role for me, right now, and be grateful for the success of the organization. It’s a joy to see students growing and gaining new skills and confidence. It’s gratifying to help young people find their way. It’s not the public role I expected to have, but I accept it.
Expectations
People in recovery may know this saying: “Expectations are premeditated resentments.”
I have hopes, but I try not to have expectations of anyone or anything outside of myself.
No matter how much I might wish things were otherwise, they are as they are. People are who they are. Their thoughts and feelings and actions are as they are (and behavior says much more than their words ever could).
Injustice
Much of life is unfair, in both public and private spaces. Should I feel the need to say something about a particular injustice, the Taoist suggestion is to “step up, express yourself fully, and step back.” In speaking up, I honor my conscience. In stepping back, I accept my powerlessness over other people and events.
To accept does not mean to approve. It does not mean I can’t wish things were different. But it does mean I understand fully that things are as they are. It means I forego futile attempts to change what is beyond my control. It means I channel my energy, which is finite, into the few things which ARE in my control.
What I Can Do
I can stay sober, I can stay present, I can live a healthy life, I can appreciate the joy and love that is present in my life today. I can acknowledge and grieve disappointments, and then let them go.
Childhood Remembered
While confined to home the past few weeks, I completed a couple of geometric pieces which echo drawings I made when I was young. They are a bit of childhood remembered.
Twisted, 20in x 20in collage on mat, October 2023
Header, 20in x 20in collage on mat, October 2023
My mother and grandmother both loved to cultivate flowers. They were farmers and farmers’ daughters good with a hoe, and my mother kept experimenting with different varieties of amaryllis until the end of her life.
So I recently returned to use of cut-up flower photos, common in my work several years ago. In this piece I worked my way out from the center with progressively larger pieces. It’s a subtle effect, an experiment.
It’s all an experiment.
See you next month.
Transfigured Garden, 23in x 23in collage on mat, October 2023
