Tag: Mothers And Daughters

The Grieving Room

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A photograph of my breakfast nook, a beautiful space with plenty of natural light and artwork surrounding me.
One of my favorite spaces in my apartment — the breakfast nook. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Music, family, release during a monthly check-in, and pushing forward

I typically share The Grieving Room newsletter every Saturday, but yesterday had been an exception to this rule. Saturday morning, I drove to Greensboro, North Carolina, to pick up my mother and bring her to my place. The drive wasn’t an intense or long one, but it had been busy on the highway, given it is currently a holiday weekend. Jernee and I made the journey with no accidents and arrived safely in front of my mom’s building. She greeted us with a smile and open arms, ready for a hug.

It has been “a long time coming” for me and my mom. We are at a point in our lives where our bond is much stronger than it had been as I was growing up, and we have found spaces in our past that can be discussed, debated, and laughed about instead of argued, swept under a rug, and filled with crying. 

I appreciate this so much more now as I get older. I can remember thinking, “I can do bad all by myself” in my early 20s, assuming I would suffer more with her presence than the opposite.

There is an incredible gift called “forgiveness”, and for me to grow into this phase of my life, I had to allow it into my world. It had to wash over me and lift me up from a dark place I centered on — lathering myself up with past instances did nothing for my heart. It only increased the pain. 

Once I pulled away from the hold of the things that hurt me, understand why they took place, and invite conversations with my mom for both of us to heal, we landed here. And let me tell you, I’ll take where we are now over where we were fifteen or even twenty years ago any day.

Forgiveness says you are given another chance to make a new beginning. — Desmond Tutu

After we touched down in my city, we stopped by a spot to pick up lunch, and we headed back to my place where we consumed what made us happy and talked about my mom getting out of her space for a short time. 

I touched on this subject a few weeks ago when I mentioned what a difference a few hours or even a day trip away from your home can make during these “unprecedented times.” She had been happy to leave home to come and spend some time with me.

At this moment, she’s resting, and soon, I will make us a hearty and healthy breakfast before I take her to the store. I am shooting for early afternoon to hit the road again to take her back to her place.

We visited my cousins and spent some time with the little one. Lately, I’ve been catching only one of them at home and not the other. But seeing Caison sparked new joy in my mom’s eyes. She completely lit up in his presence, having not seen him in about three years. Children can shift the energy of a room — a mood — an entire experience. They truly can.

Since she’s never seen either film, we watched Gemini Man and Hustle last night. She enjoyed them both, and I took delight because we could share something we both enjoy.

Having her here is what I needed to end my week and go into the next one with a few more sunshiny rays hovering over me.

A monthly check-in with my supervisor led to a reasonable breakthrough

Monthly, at my job, we have our check-ins with our supervisors. I appreciate these twenty to thirty-five-minute sessions with my direct higher-up to let me know how I am doing, where I should be, and discuss my goals for myself as it pertains to our organization. 

I will preface this by saying I love my supervisor. She goes to bat for us and wants to know — truly wants to know how we’re doing and where she can help us if she needs to.

We have a job that can easily open the doors to increased stress, but knowing she is around to reach out to and help lighten the load makes things much better on most days. I have the utmost respect for her because not only does she do all of this; she gets down in the trenches with us and takes patient phone calls throughout the day, every single day, to ensure we are scheduling our patients effectively and efficiently and maintaining shorter hold times.

I did not have the best start to the week. Not only did I have to put out a few fires with some irate patients, but I also had some other issues attacking me outside of work, so when my supervisor began our call just as she normally does every month with, “So, how are you doing?” I hesitated. 

I must have said something like, “I’m making it. I’ll be all right.” And just hearing her voice on the other end, trying to get to the root of it and listen to me intently, I broke down. The tears flowed before I could stop them.

She took the time to listen — to hear me — to allow me that space during that time. It was an incredible release for me during a part of my day when I felt like I was climbing out of a deep hole. She always closes each session with three questions she has thought of to engage me and make me think. 

One of them was, “If you could go back to your high school days, would you?” Thinking about high school put a huge smile on my face. I absolutely loved high school and instantly I missed it. But I am grateful to have moved through it.

I needed this month’s check-in more than I ever needed any other. It made me aware that there is still work to do to get through the grieving process. It comes and goes and there will always be phrases, songs, movies, and food that remind me of my cousin and the bond we had. 

There isn’t a switch that will allow me to turn that part of my brain off to move through life. I can only acknowledge the times that occur to shake me momentarily, grow from them, and appreciate the love she gave me.

I am so glad I had the love of an amazing human being. It is a testimony that stands powerfully on its own. I am also elated to know my supervisor doesn’t just talk the talk; she walks it and has done so since I started this position.

Music will always be my inspiration

This past week sent me to spaces where I needed various genres of music to both inspire and revive me. I had my “listening ears” connected to J. Cole, Common, Busta Rhymes, Kendrick Lamar, Doja Cat, Jill Scott, Moonchild, Shuggie Otis, and so many more.

If I never experience heaven in the afterlife, I have done so here while on earth. With so many talented artists at our disposal, there is a gift in music we can carve out if we will do so. To say that I can lean into these musical geniuses and lose myself is an understatement — they assist me with inspiration, and of late, it is necessary.

I will share a favorite song of mine with you. Sweetback (Helen Folasade “Sade” Adu’s band) collaborated with Amel Larrieux to create this masterpiece with a powerful message, You Will Rise. It is exceptionally appropriate for this week, and I hope you enjoy it too.

©1996 Sony BMG Music Entertainment, Sweetback & Amel Larrieux, You Will Rise

“I gotta burnin’ in my heart 
to keep it real and do my part.
I gotta burnin’ in my soul
to recognize where I’m from.
Ah, yeah.”

Welcome to The Grieving Room. I am here. You are here. We are not alone in this.

See you next Saturday.

©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt Originally published in The Grieving Room newsletter via LinkedIn.

At 4 am, She Calls for Comfort (Bisexual Flash Fiction)

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Musical Selection: Doja Cat|Woman

Part III: She’s stretching herself in all directions for her daughter

A woman stretching for legs far away from each other while lying on the floor.
Photo by Oksana Taran on Unsplash

Today, I will give her the space she needs to talk about Bree’s graduation invitation, her current need to want to get clean, and perhaps a future for us. Today, I will learn about this woman a bit more — the one who ripped my heart out almost a year ago but hasn’t left me alone since. There is a reason for all of this. There is always a reason for everything, yes? Today, I will be the listener she needs — the shoulder with everlasting comfort.

Tomorrow will bring whatever it will bring, and I will be ready for it, too

Cari devours her breakfast. She is adamant about consuming delicious, home-cooked meals. We almost never ate out. In the past, she would say, “Rena, whatever you make, I will eat it.” And she did. There had never been a meal of mine I cooked, she did not eat. She had been more than pleased to inflate my culinary ego, and I fell into every compliment as quickly as I could. This woman — the woman I loved and still love, the woman whose body I pressed my palms onto, massaging every ache away … she has returned. What will I do? What can I do?

“I still can’t believe Bree sent me an invitation to her graduation. I haven’t seen her in so long, Rena. God, how will I react when I see her?”

“I don’t know, Cari. The graduation is in, what? A little more than a week? How about you take it day by day, and when we get there, you react however your heart implores you to act.”

I look at her searching my eyes for more answers. The sunlight from one of my windows in the kitchen kisses her right cheek gently. She glows. Even though her beauty shines through undeniably, I recognize the pain in her eyes. The pain of a mother who will go above and beyond for her daughter. An addict reaching out to the heavens to get clean for the possibility of new love in the future. It has only been three days, and she’s stretching herself in all directions for her daughter.

“You’re right, Rena. I mean … You’ve always been right about most shit.”

“I’m not trying to be right, love. I’m just saying what I’m saying. There’s no need to agonize over what you will do when the day isn’t even here yet.”

I slide another cup of coffee in front of her. She grips the mug with a mighty force. I watch her as the hot liquid slips down her throat. We’re going to be okay with this. We are.

Her accent meets my ears in a way I am accustomed to it doing, but this morning, it’s different. I can sense the pain in her voice — the unknowingness that comes with reuniting with one’s daughter — especially for someone who is an addict yearning to become sober. Cari had already contacted one of the addiction and drug rehab centers in our area prior to mentioning it to me. She had an appointment with a licensed professional who would assess her upon their first meeting and go from there.

That she had taken these steps informs me she is serious — truly serious about reconnecting with Sabrina and getting sober. The old Cari would mention getting clean and then five days later, I’d find her strung out in an alley near Shoaf Blvd passed out at 3 in the morning. Cari’s phone rings just as soon as we’re done eating, and it’s Bree. My entire body tenses up because I recall the last real conversation they had and how much it tortured Cari. I listen intently.

The room is silent and each word she utters bounces off the walls and echoes back to us. She ends the call with tears in her eyes and says not to me, but to the air in front of us or around us — she was not looking at me.

“Ze maakt me zo van streek!”

I pause. I walk over to her slowly and gently pull her into my arms. I don’t have a clue what had been said — I don’t speak Dutch, but the tone … the tone showed anger? Sadness? Both?

“She makes me so angry, Rena. So angry. But how? How can she make me so angry and I still love her so much?”

Not being a mother myself, I am perplexed. I do not feel qualified to answer this question. I continue to hold her. I continue to let her vent and cry. I say what I am thinking.

“Please tell me you have not been uninvited to the graduation.”

“No … Worse. She doesn’t want you there.”

We stood in silence. Teardrops from her big, bold, and dark eyes fell onto my hands. I danced in a circle as I held her close to me. Our breaths pushed from our chests and forced us to stay in sync with one another. How will we deal with this? I don’t yet know, but what I know is this … we have a chance at a new beginning, and daughter or not, I will stand guard against Sabrina if I have to. I won’t watch her break her mother’s heart for a second time.

Once was enough.

Doja Cat, Woman, December 2021

Part I and Part II

©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt Originally published in Prism & Pen via Medium.

I just realized I had not shared the first two parts with you all. I hope this will help you get caught up here. Part I and Part II are above. Peace and blessings.

I Can’t Carry Your Bad Dreams

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And I don’t want to.

Photo by Harrison Haines via Pexels

My mom called twice this past Saturday, to tell me she’s been dreaming of my father — bad dreams and I didn’t want specifics. I can’t carry the weight of her fears about his life in my veins. I don’t want to bleed his death — don’t want to aid in the byproduct of the potentially foreseen.

My parents have been divorced since I was twelve years old. I am forty. My mom has never dreamed about my dad before, at least, not in the way she’s dreaming of him now. What does it mean when a former spouse dreams about their ex dying more than once?

According to Dream Moods, a list of explanations regarding dying in one’s dreams or death and dying of another in your dreams includes the following:

In such dreams, the death is often represented by someone else. So if you dream that someone is dead, then it means that you want to repress that aspect of yourself that is represented by the dying person. Whatever that person represents has no part in your own life anymore.

The above statement is from the section, “Death means a part of you has died.” I understand this. This is a statement I can get behind to support, but how do I convince my mother of this?

Could these dreams be the signal she needs to alert her in feeling and knowing the pieces still lingering and holding on to their past are finally breaking off — finally dying? Could she be in the beginning stages of renewal so many years beyond their end date?

Writer, Molly Longman, takes the above thought-process a bit further. “Death in dreams actually means there’s some sort of change or ending happening in your life. To the subconscious mind, this represents the end of life ‘as you now know it.’” There are several milestones that have occurred and are on the verge of occurring in my mother’s life.

She overcame hard drug abuse, is cutting back on smoking cigarettes, has cut drinking liquor out of her recreational activities, and she will be fifty-nine in September. With her being so close to sixty years old, we often talk about how hard the road has been for her — for us and we reflect on those times, grateful to be where we are as mother and daughter.

I am not a dream expert, but I have often been told that our dreams have more to do with us than anyone else and I feel as though this could be the case in this instance, but how do I approach this angle with my mom? How do I tell her the deep soul-searching she should try is probably tapping away at her psyche and she’d be wise to get ready to swim?

“I had another dream about your dad. Is he all right? Have you been keeping up with him regularly?”

My responses have been generic, but reassuring. I don’t want to get into anything too deep with her because I want to respect my dad’s boundaries. I also don’t want to start stoking any fires that have no reason to burn.

“Perhaps life is just that . . . a dream and a fear. “— Joseph Conrad

There is a thin line between listening to comfort one parent and blindly assisting them with their clouded beliefs or feelings. It is not in my best interest to give my mom any ammunition to further fuel her “bad dreams.” I want to be able to make her understand that dreams aren’t always what they seem and are often pathways to many doors we should open ourselves.

“As far as I know, Mom, he’s alive and well. Everything is okay on his end. Everything is okay.” And currently, all is indeed well with my dad.

I believe that and even if I did not, it is not my place to state otherwise unless I am told I can. My mom has enough fear within her about these dreams — I wish to aid her in finding her path away from them. “Perhaps life is just that . . . a dream and a fear.”— Joseph Conrad

If you have been having dreams of someone else dying — a mutual friend, a close relative, or one of your children, I would suggest researching the possible why of it — look into what could be transforming within you first.

I would not suggest tossing those bad dreams on to someone else. I assure you, that person is probably carrying enough, they do not need your misguided fears too.

Originally published in P.S. I Love You via Medium.

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Prepared

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The Inevitable

funeralflower
Tushar Adhikari|Unsplash

Today, I prepared my Living Will & Testament. I had been meaning to draft this up for years, started it, and never finished, but today–it is done. I have all of the necessary mentions, made one of my best friends the Executor and both she and my mom as primary and secondary beneficiaries. Why one of my best friends and not my mom? We have discussed this, my Mom and I. Should I go before her, she is not what one would call a stable person emotionally. She would be too overwhelmed with sadness and grief and probably not the one to execute things accordingly. As grim as death is, in the event of the death of your child, plans still have to be made, funeral arrangements need to be completed, the gathering of souls and notifying them as well must be carried out and well… to be frank, she would not be able to get this done.

My best friend, on the other hand, handles things efficiently and does so in a way that many cannot. Plus, it will not be her first time dealing with death and dying and head-mastering the arrangements. I hate tasking either of them with this, but it must be done. Although I am what most would call young in age, death does not care about that. When I am called by God, I will be called and age will be the last thing on God’s mind. While diligently compiling the list of belongings and making sure Jernee will be cared for and loved when I am gone, I became a bit emotional myself. To think of one’s own death is quite macabre, however, as I stated earlier, this is necessary. I have had a number of peers die “untimely deaths,” and I am certain there will be more. It is not my intention to leave my family wondering what my wishes are nor is it my intention to leave them solely responsible for funding my homegoing.

The nearly three-page document lacks nothing. I went through it with a fine-toothed comb and I am pleased with every item bullet-pointed, including the want to be cremated and have my ashes relegated to my mother who may do what she likes with them at her discretion. I requested a small funeral–family and close friends only. I do not see a reason to have a mass gathering for the purpose of me leaving this earth. The more people at this event, the more my mom and best friend will have to deal with and I intend for their burdens to be light. They will have enough on their plates. Should my Mom go before me, I am the Executor and her primary beneficiary and I will adhere to her wishes as she has laid them out for me. The same goes for my best friend. We talk about these matters, better to do so than not be somewhat prepared.

The only thing left to do now is to obtain signatures and get the Notary Public at my credit union to notarize the document. I will try to accomplish this in the next week or two. I can let out a sigh of relief because after the fall in the shower, nearly two years ago, the one thing bleating in the back of my mind like an untamed billygoat is, “you need a Living Will. Get it done, Tre.”

And now, it is.

The Freeing Of One’s Self

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And The Love That Comes From It

TreLittle
Tre, Circa 1987. Age 7.

I recently came out as bisexual to a select few of my family members and friends (oh and um to Medium) and the weight that has been pressing on my heart is slowly lifting. To say that I have freed a huge portion of myself is an understatement. The love, respect, admiration, and acceptance that I have gained from these loved ones carries an intensity behind it that I cannot fully express. I am living during a time where it feels easiest to release, so releasing is proving best for me at this stage in life. I mentioned in “But, God Still Loves Me…” that I began telling my mom a tidbit of what I wanted to discuss and I shared everything deemed shareable with her today. I am a Writer. I like expressing myself through the written word more so than being an open conversationalist.

I wrote a short note in a blank card and gave it to her so that she could read it. My mom got to the third line and closed the card and said, “I am so happy to hear it from you, but I have always known.” I began crying as she was mouthing these words to me. My mom did not miss a beat, “I know my children. I just do.” I told her to read on, to see why it was so hard for me to just let go and open my mouth and say, “I am bisexual. I have known for as long I can remember…” A lot of the pent-up pain had to do with fear and not knowing how others would react, particularly, my father’s family. My mom is very matter-of-fact. She is also a person who, when time was not as kind, was violent and had a bit of a hot temper on her.

Change is a beautiful thing when one can watch it take place.

Delving into my opening up with her today lead us deeper into things that occurred of which I was not aware. A few years back, a close family member of ours broached upon the topic of my sexuality and called me derogatory and vulgar names in the presence of my mom. To make it simple and plain, I was labeled something I am not based on appearances and assumptions. My mom and my cousin used to argue and fight often so I thought it was just another ordeal conjured up from their past that they had not yet gotten over, however, my mom let it be known today that my cousin had said something out of line about me and she went ballistic. I remember receiving the phone call from my younger cousin to come and pick up my mother because all “hell had broken loose.” She never uttered a word to me in the car about the “why” of it all and I assumed she started the argument. The only thing she said was, “She crossed a line. I wasn’t having it.” I left it alone.

“I have been praying and crying and asking the Lord to watch over you. I knew, I did not know how to tell you that I knew, but I have been fighting battles over your sexuality long before today. I will not have to anymore. Be free, baby.Loose yourself. It is the only way you will truly be happy.”

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START: Dreaming. Doing. Achieving.

It is jaw-dropping how we chain ourselves to blockades and keep our own selves from moving due to fear and the expectations of others. “You placed yourself in a box for so long and for what, baby? Why?” To answer that question among others from my mother, my cousins, and close friends over the course of the last few days has been eye-opening. There was no doubt in my mind how my mother would take it — I never feared that part, the fear came from simply saying what I needed to and watching her reaction. It came from stepping out of the dark and into the light and how overwhelming that can be when things are no longer sheltered — when things change. When we lift up rugs and start unearthing the shit that has been swept under them for years, breakthroughs happen.

Breakthroughs are meant to happen.

My mom is so free with her words and thoughts. I have always envied that. She has no problem being open, honest, upfront, and forward and it has taken me years to gain a sense of backbone somewhat close to hers, so answering her questions today was a welcome reprieve. And then this happened, “So, are we going to go to a gay bar or a strip club together? I think that would be fun.”Whoa! Hold up, mom. Pump the brakes. I don’t bar it up and you know that. And, I damn sure don’t want to go to the strip club with my mom. But then I thought, “Well, why not? What is really holding me back from going out and enjoying a night out on the town with my mom? Truly enjoying a night out on the town…”

Not a thing. No thing. But, me. Myself. My Self.

Life has a way of breaking you down so that you can get up and when you get up, you better be ready to fight the rest of the way through. My mom is willing to go out with me to places unfamiliar to her, allow me to be free in my element, in the comforts of every realm that I love, without hiding it from her. Although I do not bar it up, I do like being in environments where a simple release comes as soon you step through the door, a welcoming. No one is talking behind your back, snickering, pointing fingers, or charring you up with the flames in their eyes because of who you date or love. And if my mom wants to be with me while I continue on this journey of freeing myself, in time, I think I can be cool with that. But for right now, digesting it is taking place.

We never know what our parents think, how they feel, what battles they are fighting on our behalf. Had I not shared with my mom today, it would not have been brought to my attention that she too had been hurting because as a mom, she was fighting for her child regardless of who it was and how she felt about them, she was willing to be Mommy Bear, protect me, and continue to do so for her child. That is a love that knows no bounds. That is a love that cannot be defined — knows no singular description.

That is a love that allows me to be free.

Originally published in Other Doors via Medium.

You’ve made some changes in my head, 
I don’t feel the same
No more
Tell me it’s not make believe, 
This feeling that you’ve shown
To comfort me, my love while I’m alone