Where do I begin? I am flooded by a multitude of emotions—emotions that are accompanied by a sense of confusion, anticipation, and curiosity. Two major events are jockeying for attention in my already crowded brain. First, my dear precious mother may be leaving this mortal existence—very, very soon. Second, I have a new friendship—a friendship that is causing me to tear down additional belief systems—causing me to embrace new growth.
The ‘old ego me’ wants to know “What is all of this for? What is going to happen next? How and when will it happen?” The ‘new me’ calmly and gently replies, “Just sit back, fasten your seatbelt, and enjoy the ride. You will find the hidden treasure soon enough, and the ride will be well worth it.”
While I fully intend to listen to the ‘new me’, the ‘old ego me’ has very strong and persistent voices. I constantly need to stop and turn down the volume control.
In place of those old voices, I remind myself to return to a state of meditation, again going within to connect with the voices in my soul. That is exactly where I found myself last night before retiring—seeking those precious answers that can only be found within.
Perhaps I’ll start writing today by describing my new developing friendship.
Carlos swept me off my feet two short Saturday’s ago. After dragging me from my safe and secure perch on the wall, he amazed me by convincing me that I actually enjoy ‘salsa dancing’. But Carlos is not the new friend I am referring to. As of this writing, Carlos is still officially and unexplainably missing.
As I again spent Saturday and Sunday evenings at the plaza this week, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t secretly hoping to bump into Carlos—but even so, I was having a blast in my new dual profession of people watching and listening to the music on the plaza. I arrived early both evenings, reserving myself a spot on a bench just 40 feet from the gazebo. Saturday evening, as I waited for the band to start, I noticed a sweet older gentleman looking around for a place to sit. He appeared to be in his seventies, quite thin, with salt-and-pepper grayish hair, slicked back as seems to be the style. He walked right past me, and was beginning to sit on the low wall, when I looked up and motioned to him that the spot by me was available if he wanted to sit on a bench.
He smiled, wandered over to my bench, mouthed the word “Gracias”, and then proceeded to sit quietly for the entire evening, without saying another word to me. I too just sat there quietly, happy as a lark, tapping my feet on the ground as I attempted to catch the beat. Eagerly observing some of the better dancers, I was hoping some of their talent might somehow rub off onto me through osmosis.
On Sunday evening, after that fabulous refreshing thunderstorm had passed over, I was again sitting on that same wet bench down on the plaza. Like clockwork, about 15 minutes before starting time, up walks the same gentleman, again looking for a seat. As with the night before, our eyes connected, I smiled, and again motioned that the space next to me was free.
As he went to sit down, he pulled out a few paper napkins and began a futile attempt to dry off the bench before sitting on it. Then he noticed that the back of my bench was wet, and he offered to partially dry it as well. Seconds later a pleasant conversation began to unfold. I thanked him, and introduced myself. We did not stop talking until the band made it impossible to hear each other over the loud volume.
Miguel is a sweet, 75 year old widower, who permanently moved to Cozumel 16 months ago. He works as a bagger at the local Mega store, and said he likes to come to the plaza every afternoon after he finishes work. He has three children, the oldest being 44 and the youngest just having turned 40. He even has a granddaughter that is a U.S. citizen, who lives in Southern California. Miguel made it very clear that he does not know how to dance, and I only saw him dance one dance in the two nights we sat by each other—that one time being when he smiled and asked me if I wanted to dance. I returned a smile, and of course I said “Si.”.
About 9:30 p.m., I leaned over to Miguel during a pause in the music and said I was leaving to walk home. Like the gentleman that he is, he stood up and began walking with me. At first I thought he was just walking me to the edge of the plaza, but I soon realized he intended to walk me home.
My imagination went into overdrive. “What is he thinking?” I asked myself. “The last thing I want to do is hurt this sweet man’s feelings, and I definitely do not want to lead him on.” I struggled to find the words, “You don’t need to walk me home,” I tried to tell him. I could tell I must have said something incorrectly, because he was overcome with a sudden and puzzled look of sadness.
I went on further “You don’t need to accompany me home, but you can if you want to.” His eyes lit up when I said this, and we resumed our walk.
As we strolled eastward, away from the waterfront, I struggled to find the correct words to clarify that “We are just friends, right?” “Yes, yes, just friends” was his reply. The last thing I wanted to happen was for him to think I had any romantic interests. Even so, with the language barrier, I was not totally sure what he was saying and thinking. We were awkwardly quiet for much of the stroll toward my home.
Miguel had already indicated that he wanted to be friends for the entire four months that I am here. He had invited me to visit him at his home for chocolate milk and a fruit dessert. “I can’t go to his home.” I thought to myself—but I didn’t want to offend Miguel by saying so. As we walked, I was lost in thought, concerned about how to communicate my hesitancy in a clear and sensitive manner.
Miguel queried if I would meet him in the plaza on Monday evening, “for coffee, or soft drinks, or dinner—whatever you like,” he said. Trying to avoid a commitment, I told him “Monday is not good for me.” Then Miguel slipped a small calendar out of his shirt pocket and asked, “What about Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday,” etc… It soon became clear to me that, for Miguel, “No’ was not a viable answer. Before I made my decision, I again emphasized “Just friends, right?” Miguel’s eyes lit up when I finally agreed to meet him in the plaza Monday night at 6:00 p.m.
After giving him a little hug, I locked my gate and ascended my staircase. In the corner of my eye, I observed that Miguel waited for me to be safely inside before walking away.
I have been all over the roadmap with my thoughts regarding this friendship. Let me just reemphasize for starters that I have absolutely zero romantic interest, and am extremely sensitive to wanting to carefully guard and protect Miguel’s feelings. For some reason, something inside of me was fighting the whole idea of a friendship with him, saying “I don’t want to be friends with Miguel!” “He might be very clingy and needy.” “I cannot communicate easily with him, and besides, he doesn’t fit the mold of who I want for a friend.”
When that last thought passed through my mind, I was actually quite surprised, shocked, and ashamed of myself. “What do I mean by ‘fit the mold of who I want for a friend’?” I could not believe what I was thinking, and immediately began questioning my beliefs.
As I pondered and meditated on the issue, I recognized the many little synchronous events that brought us together, and realized that I could not possibly know where this friendship might lead. “Perhaps I was supposed to meet him,” I thought. “Maybe this is one of my lessons.” One internal voice was very clear, “Play this one out … meet him … quit resisting … and let the friendship develop (or not) in a natural way. There is neither reason nor purpose in resisting the flow”
Yesterday evening, as I approached the plaza, I briefly observed Miguel from a distance. He was sitting in the gazebo waiting, exactly where I am as I write this today. I noted that he seemed to have a sad, lonely posture. Before he saw me, I watched him stand up, walk down the gazebo stairs, and begin to wander—as if he had given up on me (even though I was only a couple of minutes late). As I walked toward him, and he finally noticed me, his whole posture shifted and his eyes lit up. Then I quietly repeated to myself, “I sure hope he really understands this ‘just friends’ agreement that we have.”
As our conversation progressed, my Spanish-to-English dictionary was a frequently utilized asset. One aspect of Miguel that I grew to greatly appreciate was his patience and his genuine desire to communicate. Of all the people I have met, Miguel is the first one to make a sincere effort to help me understand what he was saying. He paused between words, pronounced them slowly so I could hear all of the sounds, and when I would say “No comprendo,” he was quick to carefully reword his sentence in a way I might understand more easily. When I still didn’t understand a word, we would look it up, and then he would tell me several other words that mean the same thing. I found Miguel’s assistance to be quite helpful.
I had a delightful time last night. While still feeling concerned about his expectations regarding the idea of “just friends”—our time together last night gave me the confidence that maybe, we can indeed just occasionally talk together and have a great friendship. Only time will tell. As Miguel again walked me home last night, I reflected on how much I deeply appreciated this rare gesture of chivalry.
Mama Mia
My dear sweet mother is 93 years old. She has suffered from Alzheimer’s disease for the better portion of the last decade, and has gradually degenerated to a point of not being able to formulate coherent speech. Her memories are almost completely gone, and she does not seem to recognize most people—usually not even her own children and grandchildren. Because of my frequent visits, I have been one of the few people that she does seem to remember. However, in the past year, there have been several times when she did not seem to recognize even me.
During the past few years, since my father passed away in August of 2006, I have put forth a conscious effort to spend more time with my mother, forming and nurturing a loving connection that I cherish deeply. While our verbal communication is difficult if not impossible, we almost always succeed in communicating our love for each other. In fact, my mother has been an incredible teacher in helping me to learn alternative ways to communicate unconditional love without words.
One of my favorite activities when visiting with Mom has been singing familiar songs with her. It is always a delight to see her eyes light up as she realizes that she can actually remember some of the words and the tunes. My favorite recent memory was of singing Christmas Carols with her this past December. In one of her more lucid moments, she amazed me as she playfully giggled and joined me in singing song after song. During that visit, I had the distinct feeling that I would never again have such a powerful moment with her in this mortal existence—and I felt deeply prompted to tell her goodbye. As I write this, my eyes are tearing up with the incredible love and respect I feel for her.
Last December was neither the first nor the last time that I emotionally released my mother and told her she could be free to go if she so desires. “We will all be OK Mom,” I would whisper in her ear. Just three short weeks ago, I again hugged her, whispered “Goodbye, I love you” and gently hugged her. Making the decision to leave Utah—knowing I may never again see her alive in this mortal existence—was a very difficult decision indeed—one I could never have made if it had not been for the powerfully clear promptings that guided me to be exactly where I am.
So, why am I talking about my mother today? Yesterday morning, I received a phone call from my older brother. “Mom has taken a turn for the worse,” he said in a serious, but calm and loving voice. “She stopped eating a couple of days ago, and is really weak and lethargic.” My brother went on to tell me that the hospice nurse has started seeing her every day. According to the nurse, it is quite common for someone who is ‘ready to go’ to just stop eating—and once they stop, they usually only last a maximum of a week to ten days.
When I made my original plans to come to Cozumel, I had the distinct feeling that I would be interrupted by two events during my journey. My little internal voices said “You will be coming back to Utah twice, once for a funeral, and once for a wedding.” Shortly after I purchased my one-way ticket, I received word from my youngest son that he was engaged, and getting married on August 15th. I already have tickets to fly home for those festivities. This morning, not having any certainty on the outcome of events with my Mother, I followed my gut instincts and purchased seats on a round-trip flight to fly home on July 4th, not returning to Cozumel until July 20th.
Word from home last night was that my mom is deteriorating rapidly, and even this morning my brother told me he will be surprised if Mom is still alive when I get there late on Saturday night.
Now, after purchasing my tickets, a staff member at the assisted living center tells me that Mom ate lunch today (with considerable help), and was beginning to appear as if she may come out of her seeming death spiral.
While I have no idea what may yet transpire, I am content in following my instincts—which still tell me to use my newly purchased tickets. No matter what happens, this trip will bring me new growth that I could not attain in any other way. While the circumstances definitely trigger intense emotions, I am surrounded by deep peace … deep trust and confidence … knowing that everything is exactly as it needs to be. I am still full speed ahead on my journey of self discovery—with no regrets.
© Brenda Larsen, 2009
