The Release

The Easter bunny was not as gripping as Santa Claus for me, nonetheless, as a child, we still decorated Easter eggs and our parents hid them as we searched anxiously throughout grandma’s yard for them. Whoever found the most was the “winner,” though winner of what, I’m unsure, aside from a warrant to boast. And I really loved boiled eggs – still do, though not as much as I did as a child. I especially loved when grandma would devil them up, er, make deviled eggs – I wonder why they are called deviled?

My dear mother was born on Good Friday, my aunt, brother, and mother’s birthdays have all fallen on Easter at some point in history and I am far from religious. Today, I do not celebrate this holiday. When you’re a kid, you’re more concerned with whether or not the Easter bunny is going to bring you a basket full of crap that’s going to “rot your teeth out” as the elders would quip. As an adult, you come to realize how deeply religious this holiday is and I’m just not one of those people that you’ll find sitting in a pew one Sunday out of the entire year.

I do miss the family gatherings, however, and there’s nothing like a holiday to make me realize just how much I miss them. I’d give anything to dye some eggs and whip up a home cooked Easter dinner with my mother right about now. It’s a beautiful, sunny Spring day in Los Angeles and the sounds of gathering families are plenty while the scents of their fruitful meals they’ll sit down to soon waft through the air.

Holidays just remind me of how I lost my family, gained one, and then lost that one, too. Dramatic sounding, I know, but it’s the truth and I kind of hate admitting how lonely I can be on days like today. I hate how speaking the truth can sometimes sound like I’m looking for sympathy when really I’m just looking for a release. And what good is the writing if I can’t release the truth and unload the weight that has burdened me for so long for shoving it deep down inside?

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The Power of Energy

I haven’t written in quite some time for A Righteous Revival – I’ve had plenty to say but various things have stopped me from starting and finishing a post. Tomorrow marks what would be my mother’s 62nd birthday and I’d be lying if I told you I haven’t cried tonight or earlier this week when she talked to me in a dream. I’d be lying if I told you that I am okay.

We live in a world filled with too much small talk and not enough feeling. Somewhere in history, “how are you,” went from being a sincere question that warranted an honest response to small talk that merely expects a one word answer like, “fine” or “okay.” If you actually divulge your true feelings, people become closed off and uncomfortable, wondering how their small talk made a right at the serious corner. We’re not always fine and we’re not always okay and that is okay.

Tonight, as I’m loaded up on antibiotics and over the counter painkillers as well as plenty of red wine, I remember my mother for her sincerity. I remember that every time she asked me how I am she expected a full report and if that’s not what she received, she would know it. We were that connected.

Nope. C’mon, what’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice, Linds,” she’d summon the flood, if you will.

I remember my mother for her candor. If she didn’t like something or if she was passionate about something, not a person in the room was a stranger to how my mama felt because she made it known. Sure, she apologized for it at times, but I think, as women, we grew up in a society that unfortunately taught us to do just that. I think my mother grew up in that society even more so than I did. I’ve since learned as a strong female, I should not ever apologize for strong convictions or even my presence, no matter how untimely it may be in a given situation.

My mother made everything so simple in a crazy world – she was a ray of light when the storm clouds rolled in and when the sun was shining! I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t angry with her for her untimely absence. She’s been visiting me in my dreams excessively over the last couple of weeks. I’m not sure what it means but I am certain it’s a testament to how intensely bonded our spirits are.

This is the 5th birthday of hers that has passed since she died and I still can’t tell you how I’ve managed to continue on without her. After she died, it became evident just how much I relied on my mother, how much I leaned on her for support through good times and bad. Somehow, still unbeknownst to me, I have paved my own way, put one foot in front of the other.

Oddly enough, my mother spent a couple of years leading up to her diagnosis brushing off her symptoms as a mere sinus infection, which I have been suffering from for over a week now. A few months after she died, I was diagnosed with mononucleosis, the same illness a piece of shit, hole in the wall clinic in Shawnee, Kansas, misdiagnosed my mother with when she was actually dying from stage four metastatic lung cancer with multiple tumors. Last week, she came to me in a dream to inform me that the antibiotics I was on were not going to work. Sure enough, I later discovered these antibiotics were part amoxicillin, a drug my body has grown immune to. I can’t say it enough – this is just how connected we are and have always been. Maybe that’s what keeps me going – the power of energy should never be underestimated. Happy birthday, Mama. I love you more.

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