wild, sad, and serious

I thought I'd come to the idea that walking would help me dull my pain on my own... I realize now it may have come from Cheryl Strayed's Wild, which I devoured in a single afternoon one summer. Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail is her formula for dealing with mother-loss and grief.

I should be sadder. I would be if I didn't keep forgetting that it really happened. Every time I remember, it still feels unreal. It was mom's "Boss Day" yesterday, and I could barely get through it. It felt real again and again because I couldn't call her.

I'm so relieved that there is some semblance of a ceasefire in Gaza (Doctors Without Borders reported they're still hearing bombing). Amidst the hope for healing, I keep thinking about the the nearly 60,000 children who have lost parents and how it must feel to experience that loss so violently and so young.

At stopped by--it was SLE's birthday and At needed her mom. I suggested we celebrate SLE and we talked so much about SLE we both had a good cry... and then we went to the temple with an offering of fruit, flowers, and silks just for something formal to do. At had been disinvited to the funeral by SLE's family, so I keep suggesting At and her friends need to do something to honor SLE in a way she would have enjoyed. (I know so many rites now since Amma's funeral.)

Pic: Why so serious, sweet Max? (Because Dad made him wear his glasses.)

better not be kidding

Beckett says, "the creation of the world 

did not take place once and for all time 

but takes place every day."

O please tell me the world 

O pause the day

I must mean something too, I think

on days I telescope into

myself or memory 

coming into the wounds through 

which the words become 

somewhere are places bright and

in my head, a graveyard bigger

than the city it lives in

see, I really mean no harm

I say, climbing... down 

________

Pic: A few miles down the Bright Angel Trail; I am (and my shadow is) about three feet from the edge--and somehow, that's ok; any closer, and I'd freak out. We're back, BTW. I'm just still thinking about it.

unmapped

now that the world is descent 

the canyon floor 

joins me there as it happens

my favorite part of the future 

when waking is

an adventure, pulsing like stars

eager as her birth month of May

my vigil climbs

this mystery of mom missing

hymning words I can neither 

say nor sing, loving 

now my only way of knowing 

_________________

Pic: Holding on to a tree for dear life, the south rim of the Grand Canyon behind me. We hiked the entire South rim with only one tiny freakout when a 6000 ft drop lay two feet too close in front of me. I realized the trail was too narrow in parts (for me, anyway), so I opted to hike on the road and join back when the trail broadened again. 

a poem and an unrelated pic

JG sent this sweet, sad poem she wrote for me:

Tending
You were in my dream last night,
Sister of my heart.
I could not touch
your beautiful sadness,
could not carry
the weight of
your mother’s absence--
heavier than a suitcase of saris--
could only witness
the pain that seared you,
and see her light
within you.
_______________________
 Pic: Big A and me at the lip of the Bright Angel Trail, with The Grand Canyon behind us. My arm behind Big A is not holding him, it's holding the railing. We went on to descend about 3.5 miles in. It took us an hour and half on the way down and roughly twice that to climb back up. There were points along the way when I'd look up the trail and people seemed so far up, it felt like I'd never make it up there... but eventually I would pass there too...

one month in

Somehow... and I want to say "suddenly" it has been a month since I got that call from my sister: "Akka, Amma passed away this morning."

There have been lifetimes compressed into this month, journeys that would usually be planned for months. Sadness and (what feels like) fibromyalgia pain and constant nausea won't leave me...

And yet, every morning when I wake up, I walk myself through a reminder that this thing happened... it's a doorway I will have to enter and exit all day. 

I keep saving things to tell her on our daily chats/calls... I hear the quirky things she says in my head all the time... and honestly, I still feel very loved by my mom.

Pic: I added mom's mangalsutras to my own wedding necklace. I rarely wear mine; you can tell mom wore hers every second of her fifty-six years of marriage. (Usually, the Telugu wedding necklace has two of the disc-shaped lockets--one from the bride's parents and one from the groom's. In my mom's case while her parents gave her the typical Telugu pottu, my dad's family gave her the M-shaped Tamil thali. Although they too are Telugu, the Wandawasis have a tradition of wearing the Tamil-style thali to honor the Tamil family who fostered the heir who had been smuggled out of the Wandawasi fort when it was besieged by the British.)

Normal--Medium--Max

I've promised myself that I'll be more normal after midterm break. In the meantime, every one is just so kind. I worry that I'm failing to thank people in time and they'll think I'm taking them for granted... but also I know my people and they are all about extending grace. Friends who are close by continue to hold me up; friends who are far away have started on Round #2 of cards and things...

And I received an unusual and generous gift certificate to a medium from a friend who just had her own first highly successful visit herself. I never even thought of approaching one, but now preparing for my appointment (as yet unbooked) is all I can think of. If I have a worry, it's that I won't hear from my mom or Scout OR that I will and then I'll be addicted.

Pic: Max (barely visible here) is the best right now. He really wants nothing from me except my presence... not even my attention or awareness.

not alone

a mild day for a grim pilgrimage

the light spread thin as sleep 

over a dream in which

no one has died 

an empty day 

a safe day

in the fold

of the next one

falling unremarked--

a pebble in the current-- 

hoping you will be called 

by your childhood name again 

__________

Pic: Water fowl on the Red Cedar; from my walk yesterday.