Brava

August 2014

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26 BRAVA MAGAZINE | AUGUST 2014 TOGETHER WE'VE LEARNED THAT ALL THINGS ARE INTERCONNECTED NO FORGETTING, NO REMEMBERING MEDITATING ON MOM BY ERIN HANUSA ILLUSTRATION BY JOSIE ABLEMAN THRIVE MUSE RECENTLY MY MOTHER TURNED 65. In her usual generous fashion, she offered to take the whole family out to dinner on her dime. And she wanted no gifts. Instead, she asked that, at the dinner, each of us would—I'm quoting here—"say some- thing we'll always remember her by." My stepdad conveyed this request in a text message. Something we'll always remember her by…like when she's dead? Was this a birthday party or an early funeral? I'm pretty sure my mom did not intend to give me an existential seizure. But the MORE*REǢECTEDONHOWTOˬNSWERHER question, the more stuck and panicked I became. Simple answers like, "I re- member when you taught me to how to bake chocolate chip cookies," felt utterly trivial. And anything more complex led to the unsayable and unavoidable truth: Someday, my mom is going to die. Happy birthday to you! My parents divorced when I was small, and I have feared my mother's death for as long as I can remember. Until I was too old to harbor such fantasies, I believed I could prevent her death, or at least miti- gate the pain. Whenever Mom would run an errand, I jumped at the chance to join her, thinking my presence could ward off danger. Or if I failed and the car crashed, at least she wouldn't die alone. And I wouldn't be left alone without her. I'm now 36 and in the last few years my mom and I have been attending Bud- dhist meditation retreats. Together we've learned how all things are interconnect- ed. You don't have to be a Buddhist to get on board with this idea, at least insofar as it applies to children and parents. It's visible in the way babies look like us, in the mannerisms we share, even in the be- haviors we learn from each other. ŀ IS IS NOT THE SˬME THING ˬS FˬTE ŀ EREISPOWERINOURCHOICES#UTWHEN I exclaim "God bless America!" or "For Pete's sake!" instead of other choice curse words, I hear my mother's voice coming from my mouth— and that's her presence in me that Buddhists call condi- tioning. I see it in my son, too: our shared goofy streak, our sensitive temperament, even our sweet tooth. ŀ EREˬREMˬNYSEEDSOFMYMOTHERIN me that I want to water: her open heart, her courage, her resilience. And there are also things that I'd like to allow to go dormant. I pray that as I grow older, *WILLǠGUREOUTHOWTOBEKINDERTOMY SELFŀ ˬT*WILLBEQUICKERTOˬPPRECIˬTE the preciousness of my body, rather than BEMOˬNINGITSǢˬWSŀ ˬT*WILLCˬRELESS about disappointing people. And like any parent, I hope that the conditioning I've passed along to my son contains a little less sorrow, a little more ease. If I suc- ceed, the accomplishment will belong to my mom as well as to me. Mom and I have an unspoken agree- ment not to ask one another what we think about and experience in the silence of meditation. But given the condition- ing we share, I bet some of the same stuff comes up for each of us. I think we both REǢECTONOURDRIVETODOBETTERˬNDITS shadow side of self-criticism. We try to be a little wiser, a little gentler—to ourselves and others. In spite of this we sometimes fail. As we sit side by side, our eyes closed, we are mother and daughter but we are also simply two human beings. Both suffering, both doing our best, and sometimes both brimming with gratitude for this life we have. Mom, my love for you goes far beyond remembering: For as long as I'm here, for as long as my son and his children and their children are here, you will be pres- ent. You are there in my every breath. How beautiful that we can't forget, and we don't need to remember. And one more thing: Happy birthday.

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