My dear grandmother was content to sit on a porch for hours telling stories, while I struggled to sit still long enough to listen. Deeply aware of her special gift of her healthy and vibrant presence in my life, I vowed to spend more time with her, listen more carefully, and put aside my own schedule to enjoy her company. Caught up in the rhythm of daily life and the complexities of my youthful self-absorption, my romantic problems, building a business, and finding the right man, the years flew by and Grandma’s body began to decompose. Now I find myself missing her hugs, her unconditional adoration and the sound of her laughter with a longing that hurts my soul.
During our weekly trips together to traditional family Sunday dinners at my mother’s house, Grandma reveled in the details of my private life. “Honey, what happened to that nice guy you were seeing?” she’d ask with eager anticipation, and I brushed aside her honest question, feeling like a fly under the microscope and longing to be alone with my thoughts. . I knew that she could see directly through my eyes into the depths of my soul, and this feeling of transparency filled me with the need to run and hide from her knowing gaze.
One hot, sunny day in the middle of summer, several years before she died, I decided to surprise Grandma with an impromptu afternoon visit. I found her sitting in a public swimming pool next to her apartment building trying to relieve her loneliness by watching the children swim and play. In that rare moment of connection, feelings of love and empathy for her washed over me. Now I wonder, why was it so hard for me to sit still with her, really listen, set aside my own schedule, and still my mind to enjoy those precious moments together?
My mother battled her own demons in the last years of Grandma’s care. Can you believe I drove to 10 different stores trying to find her the “right” kind of onions and pantyhose!” My mother groaned at me during one of our many whining sessions related to Grandma’s very specific requests. “Well, at least you did not do it. I don’t have to spend 45 minutes in the supermarket while she examines each potato,” he would reply with a giggle. These conversations usually ended with laughter, but underneath the lighthearted banter was a shared understanding that Grandma wouldn’t be with us to forever.
What are the deepest voices in a woman’s soul and why is it so hard for us to stop the noise long enough to listen? As I sit on my back porch looking out over the swamp on this warm early May morning, I finally allow myself to hear the faintest whispers of my own soul. Several years ago, after a long-term relationship and spending months planning my dream wedding, I experienced an engagement breakup. I allowed myself to open up to the pain and entered a long period of spiritual stagnation. I questioned my job, my relationships, my own self, and the life choices I had made. Derailed and fragmented as my life veered off course, I considered geographic relocation and entered a series of short-term meaningless relationships that left me feeling lonely and disillusioned.
As a psychologist, I enjoy seeing young women’s lives evolve and transform. There was a young woman in my practice who had a particularly profound impact on me. During the course of my own hurt and despair, I watched her life take shape as she healed deep childhood wounds, changed careers, blossomed in her marriage, and experienced the joys of pregnancy and parenthood for the first time. In the course of our work together, I became aware of a growing pain within my own heart. Bearing witness as she broke through her wall of fear to align with her soul, I recognized my own longing to do the same.
Just last week, I dared to put on my wedding dress for the first time since I broke off the engagement. As I stood on the bridal shop shelf and looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I remembered my mother sitting in a chair several years earlier, watching me as I stood in the exact spot for my second dress fitting. . I sadly recalled the deep fear and concern in her eyes, feeling that my relationship with my fiancé was in trouble and my hopes and dreams were about to crumble around me. In my reflection I saw myself as a slightly older version of the bride-to-be from several years ago. In my own eyes I saw loss and despair, pain and regret, longing and pain, renewal and hope. In that moment I felt more alive than I had in years. Finally, aware of my ability to heal and my inexhaustible reservoir of hope, faith, and love, I found my mother not in the flesh behind me, but inside me. As the faintest of whispers echoed from the depths of my soul, this time I stayed still long enough to listen. The whispers grew louder as I was told to stop running, embrace stillness, release fear, and allow love to re-enter.
As a child, I marveled at how the moon followed the car, always appearing directly overhead. “The moon wears a seat belt,” my grandfather explained, and I tried to visualize the glowing sphere strapped securely in a car seat, traveling along a parallel interstate in the sky. My grandfather was a creative and playful man who understood the magic of a child’s perspective. Perhaps the pain we all experience stems from a faulty perspective caused by a sense of misalignment or alienation from the voices of our own soul. To act genuinely and authentically from our deepest core, we must allow ourselves to be still long enough to listen to the answers that are already within us.
The boy in my heart reminds me that stars in the night sky are diamonds, moons can wear seat belts, and relationships can be reborn. As I become more aware of the present and release my ties to the past and the future, I finally find myself ready to live deeply and truly and reclaim the joy and fulfillment left behind by my grandmother. Recently, while driving alone late at night, I saw the reflection of the full moon in my rear view mirror. Memories of my grandfather flooded my mind, and I swear, the moon followed me all the way home.