Control

Have you ever seen the movie Groundhog’s Day?  In a nutshell, this dude has to keep reliving the same day over and over, until he gets it right.  Once he does, he is able to move forward with his life.  Funny thing is, he finally gets it right, when he stops trying to control what is happening to him and becomes a better person for doing so.

Recently, a friend of mine transitioned.  Back in the day, we were very close, but in recent years, not so much.  She was still very important to me, but we were on different paths.  Losing her so soon after losing my other friend has been very challenging, but also enlightening.  Both of these friends were my senior, by about 13 years each, just like my sister is to me.  I actually have another friend in the same age bracket and like my sister and these other friends, there have been times of great closeness, followed by, not so much.  Which made me realize something very profound.  Have I been trying to fill the loss of my mother with these people?

I can’t say that I had ever truly been close to my mother, but in all honesty, I don’t have much memory of her anymore.  Maybe when I was very little, there was a stronger connection, but knowing about her battle with depression, I’m thinking, not so much. I don’t recall any heartfelt conversations or being buddies.  Actually, I more recall me trying to be closer to her by having her roll up my shirt sleeves when I was perfectly capable of doing it myself.  In doing so, she had to touch me and I think I craved that. 

Something else I’ve been thinking about is my need to pull away when people try to get closer to me.  In the past, I was thinking it was more about trying to control me, tell me what to do with my life, they knew better and I should listen, right?  Wrong, it was the easiest way to make me pull away and shut them out of my life.  I remember my father picking on me throughout my adult life by repeating to me what I had once said to him, “You can’t tell me what to do!”  I must have been a horrible kid.  Between that and the infamous, “You don’t care, whether I live or die!”  I must have tortured my parents relentlessly.  Now I realize, I may have done the same to these friends as well.

I’ve always wondered why it seemed like my friends felt a need to take care of me.  I can obviously take care of myself, but I’m thinking that there is something about me that screams that I’m a brat that needs to be handled.  Therefore, the mothering comes into play and then the me pulling away.  Whenever I was really missing my mom, I would go visit my Aunt Ginger, my mother’s sister.  She would proceed to tell me all that I was doing wrong with my life and how I needed to fix it.  I would leave not missing my mom so much and our visits became less frequent.   I’m guessing that is how I viewed my mother.  I must have thought of her as being controlling and therefore someone I had to get away from.  It didn’t mean that I didn’t love her, I just wanted to do things my way.  Actually, if memory serves me, I think she would call me an independent cuss.  If the shoe fits…

I have a kitchen cabinet door that likes to open by itself.  I like to think that it is my mother trying to get me to pay attention to something she wants me to see, do, or hear.  When it happens, I say out loud with an annoyed tone, “Yes, mom.  What am I missing now?”  It gives me a sense of closeness to her, like she is always with me.  My friends who have recently transitioned, would agree with that perspective.  They, like I, believe that we don’t simply cease to exist.  Instead, we go back to from whence we came.  We are ever present, even if we don’t have a physical body any longer.  In the past few days, my kitchen cabinet door has been opening more frequently and when it does, I don’t feel so annoyed.  Instead, I feel like I have visitors who have come to wish me well and can see that what I’m doing with my life isn’t so bad after all.  Thinking this way has given me a sense of peace.  When I step back and look at the work I’ve done, I feel a sense of approval from not just myself, but from the people who have tried to help me, but I was too stubborn to listen to.  In that moment, I feel like I am letting go, just a bit, of my need to be in control and I can welcome them in and feel their closeness.

Maybe we were on different paths, but I should not have been so distant.  However, the phone lines do work both ways.  Still, I feel I should have tried harder to be more approachable.  Maybe I could have done things differently if I wasn’t so concerned about feeling controlled.  This is why I have decided to try and be more approachable than I have been in the past few years.  I’m not going to put myself out there, I’m not ready for that level of intimacy with anyone, but I will try to be more receptive.  I’m going to try and be a better listener, something I have always struggled with.  Most of all, I will do my best not to run away if I feel like I’m being mothered.  I can’t bring back mine, but maybe I can be more open to being cared for.

I am most definitely still grieving the loss of my friends, but somehow not.  I swear I can feel them more now than ever and with that, my mother as well.  Somehow, the sadness is comforting, it’s soft and fluid, not rigid and controlled.  Maybe by allowing the sadness to flow over me, it will wash away the grief and allow me to move forward with my life with a new understanding of well, everything.  Maybe I’m on my way to being a better person, I’d like to think so.  My Aunt Ginger once asked me, “How come you’ve become nicer with old age?”  Maybe it’s because life has taught me, I can’t always be in control, but I can control the person I am.

#thelieswechoosetolivewith