I’m not actually doing Science. Or maybe I am. Depends on how Scientific you want to get about Science. POINT being that I haven’t properly updated or even written anything here for you as evidence of my Science-doing or lack thereof. Here is an update. I am definitely still alive.
My numbness has mostly dissipated and somewhat evolved. In that instead of feeling numb, my eye feels twitchy. And instead of my hands being confusingly wholly numb, now it’s more of a carpal tunnel thing. Which is way less alarming. But still bizarre in its origins. The rest of it is either gone or so mild I can’t tell if it’s there. Which is, of course, where it began so I don’t feel out of the woods by any means.
Backing up to that week. It never totally went away for days. The Thursday after I’d been seen in urgent care, I had another moment of strong numbness while in the library with the kids and I spent an embarassing amount of time in the bathroom smiling at myself to see if both sides worked. (They did, but turns out my smile is somewhat uneven. Discovering that while wondering if you are having a stroke is… interesting.) But it passed and I went through my day as I did the rest of the week: feeling fragile, but going through the motions and living life.
And then that night, somewhere just before dawn I think, I had a thought. I’d often heard people say that body parts in discord relate directly to psychological discord. For instance, a sore throat means you aren’t speaking up about something. So I tried to relate my numbness with a psychological issue and – BOOM – I was already quite aware that I was putting certain aspects of my grieving on the back burner. I had made the conscious choice to stay numb.
There were a lot of reasons, some sound crazier than others. Part of it was time. Part of it was the fear of having to cry, feel sad or angry, to make all that hurt raw again. Part of it was that, after she died, I felt her Spirit and her Crazy were released into the atmosphere and I was terrified to invoke her and risk imbibing some of her Crazy. I was afraid to become her.
The same night I had this thought, my aunt had one with the same intent. Totally separate instances.
The following day was the first day my numbness got much better. (Although, as I type this out, I feel it more strongly right now. Which either means that I am totally right or totally wrong. The Universe is sometimes unclear with her messages.)
So I have spent time nearly daily working hard on grieving. I tried journalling and only learned that I’m afraid to move forward. And then, a few days later, I had another thought come to me in the night: to write my mom a letter. It seems really completely obvious to say it like this, but you have to understand that this was a part of my mom’s Crazy – the letter writing. She always had at least one 20-page letter active to someone or several someones about how they’d wronged her. We found probably over ten boxes of papers, many of them were notes or letters. TEN BOXES. So I didn’t even consider it for a long time because of Invoking the Crazy. And then that night I remembered: Embrace the goodness of mom to heal from her badness. Do not be afraid to channel her. Write her a letter. It’s a good idea. And so I did. And then I read it aloud to her. (Because that’s not crazy at all.) Immediately I felt lighter.
I learned two things from writing that letter. First that I always made her a part of my life as much as I could. I always talked to the kids about her. “This was my mom’s favorite song.” “My mom taught me that, she was a smart lady.” Having read all my mom’s notes this summer I had allowed her to trick me into thinking my kids knew nothing about her. And I realize that she wanted more. I did what I could for her, too. I sent her pictures, videos, allowed her to read the homeschooling blog so she’d know what we were up to. But recently I realized something else: I saved my kids from so many scary experiences with her. It’s impossible to remember all the things that never happened, but considering the times she did break through my wall into my life in the last six or eight years, my kids wound up scared because of her Crazy.
The second thing I learned was that the wall I built, the one made to protect me, was built of all the bad things, and it hid the good things from me. All these years I’ve tried so hard to remember the good things because I wanted to be balanced, and it turns out, I carefully hid those good things from myself so that I could live safely and sanely. I gave up all the good parts of my mom. And now I don’t know how to find them. I love my mom. When I got that phone call that day back in July, I started bawling before I hung up and didn’t stop for about 12 hours, and then only to go about my day as needed. I fell into the dark for a good month or more. I love my mom. But I am having a hard time finding love for her now. Isn’t it strange how emotions work? I can have directly conflicting ones raging inside me at once. I love her, but I can’t remember how to love her.
When I mentioned this physiological-psychological connection to my acupuncturist, she suggested reading Louise Hay’s book on the subject. And then the Universe was all, “Yeah! What she said! That’s a great idea! Here, let me make it easy for you.” Browsing books on sale on the Nook, I found it for a couple bucks. I opened it up last night and read the descriptions of my current issues:
Carpal-Tunnel Syndrome: Anger and frustration at life’s seeming injustices. (Note that I recently made a category for this blog called “2011 is a Fucking Motherfucker”)
Face: Represents what we show the world.
Numbness: Withholding love and consideration.
Fairly insightful, I think.
So that’s where I am right now. I’m trying to catch up on work, on homeschooling, on handling my mother’s affairs. So when it comes to writing, it’s mostly deep, dark shit that I need to spew privately. Which may or may not be Science. But I am definitely still alive.