The Many Shades of Need

   When my mother passed away a few years ago, the question of how I would fill the void she left behind, especially during the holidays, set off a profound sense of confusion, sadness and even resentment. The unfamiliar terrain of navigating through the loss was coupled with the realization that the rest of the world keeps moving on.
   I wanted the world to stop rotating just long enough for me to step off.
Those first few holiday seasons were made bearable by keeping very close to my son and his wife and by keeping extremely busy -- hosting my own gatherings and going to every party we were invited to.
   But this year, everything was different.
   After a scrumptious and abundant Thanksgiving celebrated with my family of siblings, cousins, nieces and spouses, Christmas and the days leading up to it were actually the hardest to maneuver through since Mom's passing.
   Among what I suppose are many of the reasons for my emptiness were the fact that I had received some extremely heart-breaking news just before the holidays, I had some of my own health issues, and my son and his wife had other plans for both of those holidays. I suddenly found myself drowning. I'm not blaming them; not by a long shot. It's my fault -- totally. It's all my fault for becoming so dependent upon others for my sense of happiness during those times that finding it are the most difficult.
   There is a big difference between going to family and friends for love and uplifting and becoming completely dependent upon them for your spirits. The very last thing I ever want to become to my son is a burden.

Codependency has many shades of need.

   Upon realizing that, I now know that:
I cannot allow myself to be that dependent in that way.
I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
I must take matters into my own hands.
I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
I must adjust my expectations (in fact, don't have any.
I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
I will also go back to keeping myself busy.
And, I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.

   Now the holidays are behind me -- all of us. And to that, this year I say, "Thank goodness."

   It rained all day today, so it was just one of those days to give in and let go -- and stay in my jammies. I spent most of the day going through my and my mother's cookbooks and recipe cards. I have vowed to reenter my kitchen, the place that used to make me feel the most secure; where my mind was opened and I could really get my creative juices flowing. It's not a New Year's Resolution, but it is a 30-day commitment. They (whomever "they" are) say that it takes 21 repetitions to create a new habit. They also say we can all endure just about anything for 30 days. So, I'm starting with the first 30 day period, and with healthy cooking in mind.

   This brings me to a God Wink or perhaps even a miracle that happened this past week -- but to tell you about it, I have to start in 2003, so please stay with me.
1.  After moving into this house in which we now live, Mother and I began going through all the magazines we both had been holding on to, all of our cookbooks and the stack of pages torn from magazines at the doctors' and dentists' offices. We had a stack a mile high of things we had decided to get rid of. Some would go in the trash and others would be donated to the hospice thrift store.
Several weeks later, Mother reached for a particular cookbook and it was no where to be found. When I got home from work that day, she was visibly upset. She explained that the cookbook had been given to her by her mother (Ethel) and that it had been given to her by her mother. She used it all the time.
2.  I was devastated and immediately got in my car and drove over to the thrift store. I combed their shelves looking for it, although I wasn't even sure what I was looking for. Little did I know that Mom had done the same thing earlier that day. We never found the book.
3.  Fast forward to 2016, only says ago: My cousin in California posted a photo of a cookbook, saying it had belonged to our grandmother, but was given to him by his dad (my mother's brother). I recognized the cover of the cookbook (published in 1913) as possibly being the book Mother used to go to so often.
4.  Feeling nostalgic, I decided to research and see if I could find any copies of it. It would be fun to have such an old cookbook. Low and behold, I was able to locate three copies of the book, one in Washington DC and two in Oregon. I purchased all three copies, and the first of the three arrived this past week.
5.  As soon as I opened the packaging, I knew it was the same cookbook Mom had so often used, but it's what I saw inside the book that had me nearly fainting.
There, on the first page was this inscription:

Just in case you can't read it, it says "To Ethel from Mother."
Seriously!

I don't know if this is my mother's actual book, but even if it isn't -- at the very least it IS a major God Wink. Right?
I have been on Cloud Nine ever since.

   I wrote a letter to the company that sent the book to me, located in Washington DC, asking if they have any records indicating where this book may have come from. I hope I hear back from them, but even if I don't, I'm ecstatic.

   I did finally take a shower about an hour ago, put clean jammies on and sat down to my computer to try to commit to my blog, again. There's a whole lotta' commitment goin' on. Ha, ha.

   Seriously, though. If you're mourning the loss of a loved one, allow yourself to experience all your emotions (anger, longing, fantasy) without judgement. If tears come, let them flow; if joy arises at a happy memory, embrace it.
   Remember that the irony of a family member passing is that you had to love them first in order to feel the loss. So, loss can be a reminder of love, grief can and will give way to gratitude, and absence, if you allow it, can be the impetus to create new traditions.
   By sharing memories of those we've lost with those we still have, we remind ourselves of the significance people hold in our lives and the Magic of Family.

I love and miss you, Mom and Dad...always will.