MIXED EMOTIONS

My feelings in November.

MIXED EMOTIONS
Mixed emotions is one way to describe my November. Happiness and sadness combined into one. Birth and death celebrated with Thanksgiving! MIXED UP!
My mother gave birth to me in November, and forty-seven years later, she died in November. In 1993, my life was forever changed, and I became a very different person. My core values remained the same, for they had been drilled into me for 47 years. My path went dull, and my way got dark. I no longer knew how to navigate my way because my Pathfinder was no longer available to me. I existed, but I was no longer living.
I carried out everyday functions like a robot, but I was outside of me, operating with precision, determination, and absolute resolution to succeed. I had to make my mother proud. I drowned myself on the path to success because Florence could not be shamed or made out to be a liar. All bets were off, for I would honor her name.
In 1993, I lost my best friend, my confidant, my ride or die, my spiritual advisor, my personal warrior, my mother. I also lost me.
Healing has since set in, and I eventually came to understand the reasoning behind her death, but it took years. My mother's death was necessary for me to grow up and to find my way to the feet of Jesus.
Life became a blur. I went to work every day. I worked overtime. I worked at night. I got involved in my community. I became an elected official. I became president of several organizations. I even became mayor of my city. I put in some work, but the hole in my heart would not close; it just got bigger. My mother was not there to share it with or to see who I had become.
I loved my children. I loved my grandchildren, and yes, I loved my great-grandchildren, but I was not whole. I was an incomplete vessel moving through unknown territory, learning my place in life and why God had made me.
In 2011, I took my annual pilgrimage to Massanutten Resort in Virginia. No one went with me. I was alone. The quiet and solitude were divine, and I guess God thought it was time to wake me up. Yes, I now think of the year after my mother's death as having been in a deep sleep where everything kept on happening, but more surreal than real. It was a jolt. I suddenly wondered where I was and why I was up there alone in Massanutten. Over the next few days, the answers came slowly and quietly. No big fuss, just the quiet voice in my head saying Enough is enough. It is time to live.
The strange thing about such an awakening is that you have no clue that you had been asleep, and asleep for such a long time. I could not figure out where the time had gone. I knew instantly it had to do with my mother's death, but I could have sworn that I had dealt with that and that I was living my best life. Okay, if that is true, where has the time gone? Sixty-five years old, and no personal life. No male companion. No close friends. No close relationships with family, church, or even on the job. Sure, I had acquaintances. I came across happy and fulfilled because I had built an absolutely perfect façade. I was on stage, and can't no one could say that I am not a great actress, for since the death of my mother, I had become a truly great actor.
No, the acting did not stop in 2011, but it became less and less enjoyable or fulfilling. I was too aware of my losses: loss of time, loss of youth, loss of years. For all intents and purposes, I was starting over from scratch, and this time I had no idea where I wanted to go or how I would get there. Fall back, work. Work again became my passion. It is, and what I know and can do with my eyes closed. So, I worked. I took on failing organizations and brought them back to life. I brought them to the public's attention. Through my work and the help of others, I became instrumental in many social changes that still exist. Yes, I worked.
In 20221, I abruptly lost interest in working, being in the public eye, and being the go-to person. I was done. No, I did not completely quit working; I quit having to work. There is a difference. In 2021, I learned to work because I wanted to, to do things I wanted to do. I realized that my mother was no longer a reason to work. I wanted to work now to build a career and do the things that would make me happy.
The trouble with waking up at sixty-five is that starting a life and a career is four times as hard. No one takes you seriously. They all believe that you have lived such a successful life, and why would you want to get back into the fray of things? So, you start your own show, and that I did. Not with the heart and zest that I had at 30, but it was there. This time, I am not getting paid, I have no staff, and no money or company money to finance my new direction, but it was and still is a path my mother knew very well, a helping hand to a stranger in a house beside the road that would become a friend to man. My complete desire all rolled up in a nutshell.
This journey is new, but it feels comfortable, and this month, I will turn 79. I still have mixed emotions, but I have come to terms with my mother's death. I can laugh at her jokes again, smile when I hear her favorite songs, and pass by her favorite places, and no, I don't get angry with other people who still have the pleasure of living with and seeing their mothers every day. I do still tear up when talking about her with others who have gone through the death of their mother, and are still feeling that emotional connection, but I recover quickly, and know that time, and only time, will get them to their next place and space in their heart and emotions.
Yes, November brings mixed emotions for me, and it also brings healing. I am not the 47-year-old mother left behind after promising to never leave me, nor am I the sixty-five-year-old who suddenly woke from a deep sleep to find that the world did not go to sleep, but kept on moving. I am, however, the 78-year-old who still wants to live, give back, and become the very best person she can become. I also still am looking for love, companionship, friendship, and a better tomorrow.
Nothing mixed up about either of those.