Mom Lessons
In honor of Mother’s Day and in recognition of National Arthritis Awareness month, I decided to write about my mom and the things she taught me that help me live well despite the pain and emotional upheaval of arthritis.
I’m lucky enough to still have my mom, and even at my age, on some level, I’m still her baby. As a mother myself, I know that her love for me is so fierce that she would take every ounce of pain from me and into her own body if she could. She’s been there to listen and encourage me when doctors dismissed my pain and told me nothing was wrong, sat for hours in hard hospital chairs at my bedside, cared for my children when I couldn’t, and was my voice when I was too sick to speak for myself. But one of the most important things she did for me was teach me how to cope when things get hard.
Mom Lessons
Music is a Necessary Part of Life
The soundtrack of my childhood included country and classical music, the blues, rock and roll, pop, and even opera. Almost every day, Mom turned on the stereo, and the tunes reached every corner of our small house. On weekend nights, the white shag carpet in our living room became a makeshift dance floor for family and friends. I sometimes listen to those old tunes when I need a cup of comfort. John Denver, Mom’s favorite, still brings tears to my eyes. Music helps us celebrate and grieve, keeps us moving - even if it’s just tapping our fingers or toes, elevates our moods, provides release, and invites us to connect with others. Have you ever been to a concert where thousands of voices are singing together? Somehow, those words and melodies stitch together the patchwork of people into a temporary quilt of joy.
Sometimes You Just Have to Laugh
Some of my favorite memories with Mom are going to the Pink Panther movies and laughing until we cried. Mom loves a good full-body laugh that turns into hooo, hooo, hooo with a long sigh at the end, which one of my brothers loves to imitate. We have a saying in my family, “That one goes in the book!” Of course, there is no actual book. It means that whatever hilarious thing happened was so outrageous and so funny that it will go down in family lore and be told again and again, and we’ll laugh again and again. Mom is quick to find the humor in most situations. She doesn’t whitewash anything, but diffuses the tension by observing the absurd in it. The relief from the gripping circumstances gives us a chance to regroup and find a way through. When my sense of humor fades under stress, I invite playfulness back in by watching a funny movie or stand-up routine, looking at funny memes online, or connecting with friends whose wacky way of looking at the world reframes it for me.
It's Okay to Make a Mess, But Clean It Up When You’re Done
Mudpies, tempera paint, and tents in the living room were part of our summer days growing up. Even though Mom loved a neat house, she suspended her need for order so we could do the necessary work of disordering needed for children to grow and flourish. However, after our messy play was over, we helped her clean it up and returned to a new order, one that included the changes brought about because of the mess. The change might have been a piece of art or something less tangible, like a deeper bond with my siblings, or the understanding that things get messy sometimes, and that’s okay. When we are in the tumult of acute pain, mental or physical, we are consumed with how much it hurts. Suffering happens when we allow ourselves to be consumed by the flames of our circumstances rather than letting pain be the alchemical fire that leads to transformation. What’s important is how we choose to let pain and adversity change us, because life will get messy and change us. We must be able to clean up the mess and make something out of it.
It's Okay to Fail and Try Again
When I was in my early twenties, I made choices I shouldn’t have made, and pretty much made a disaster of my life for a while. I distanced myself from those who knew me best, especially my parents and lifelong friends, because I didn’t want to look in the mirror and not recognize the person staring back at me. I would then have to face that I had betrayed my true self. But Mom saw past the outer layers to the purer form of me that existed before the rasp of life roughed me up. Mom never said I told you so, even though she advised against many of the decisions I made, and she showed me that she knew I would come out on the other side even stronger. She didn’t withhold love as a consequence of failure; instead, her love inspired me to have hope and find my way again. This lesson comes in pretty handy on days when I’m not my best self and let pain color my world. It takes daily practice and the ability to forgive myself when I lose hope, have the blues, get irritable, or fail to follow my plan of care meticulously.
Be Grateful for the Blessing in Your Life, Especially the People
I don’t know how she did it with four children, but Mom cooked almost every day and insisted that we eat as a family. Our nightly meals were part of the foundation for our tacit agreement that we were there for each other, no matter what, and always would be. Those meals and other rituals built the muscle memory of love I need when my conscious brain forgets how to love or that I am loved. Each shared meal made love as familiar as breathing and taught us to be grateful for the gift of each other. She helped me understand that genuine gratitude is an expression of humility that recognizes and embraces our interconnectedness and interdependence. Authentic gratitude doesn’t paper over the realities of my illness, but allows me to live with joy despite my challenges.
