Dia de los Muertos

Something a little different, today. In honor of Día de los Muertos, I wanted to reach out and share a bit of my mother's story, for she has her piece here also. The above box was painted by her, most likely, before I was even born. My mother was a very unique individual--an artist, creative by nature, nearly genius-level intelligence and could transform any house into a beautiful home. She was warm, loving, giving and touched many lives in her years on Earth. For many years, I took gifts, delivered letters and lit candles at her grave on November 2nd. This year, I said a blessing and touched a few of her personal items that still remain, while hoping maybe she could hear.

I lost her in 1993, to her second husband. She was a victim of Domestic Violence also--but her story didn't end with escape to a new life--it ended with him murdering her. She loved him and believed she could help him. She believed that his love for her would protect her from damage beyond the bruises, constant humiliation, and past attempts to seriously hurt her. She believed that by showing him love, she could change his life.

Funny how often sensitive, loving people believe that the amount of love they contain can balance the lives of those that have "damaged" backgrounds. How often this leads into abusive relationships. I watched my mom do it and later did the same in my life. "My love will fix them." "I am strong; I can endure the hurt they hit me with." But it eventually takes a toll on one's self-esteem and in my mom's case, it eventually cost her her life.

I never understood why she stayed. It hurt me that she chose him over her own children. Years later as I went through similar relationships, I finally understood the guilt, manipulation, and pleas that they use to keep you there. I finally understood believing their lies that you can't survive without them, that nobody else could possibly love or want you. I understood the vicious circle that keeps you trapped and afraid to run. And I guess that is part of my learning to forgive her for leaving us. It is part of forgiving her for making me an orphan at nineteen. It is part of forgiving myself for not being able to save her.

At any rate, some believe today the veil between worlds is thin; that this is a time to honor and celebrate the lives of those passed; that on this day, the deceased are permitted to visit with their loved ones and vice versa. I like to take November 2nd each year and celebrate her life. I understand better now than I did then and while the pain is still there, the cut is no longer an open wound. For today, I thank my mother for being the beautiful person that she was and I honor the beauty that was her inner-light and spirit. Thank you, Mom. R.I.P.