This may not make sense, or it might.
I learned a lot being in grad school during the pandemic while going through SA acceptance/(starting) survivorship about how my body/the body/our bodies hold time. Really how the body moves through time and seasons. This was especially present in my post grad recovery, noticing how in certain seasons after grad school my body would have more pain flare ups or I would experience more anxiety. My body had to be present in a new season while prepping for extreme pressure based on consecutive previous seasons. I love my body for protecting me and am proud of myself for doing the work to care for myself in those patterns. I am grateful that my body has moved through and outside of those patterns.
The loss of my mother is something entirely different. This grief and rememory has been unpredictable and disorienting. Each month anniversary has moved me forward to here; days, hours, seconds away from marking a year. I am resistant. I don’t want to be at this milestone, I don’t want to be in this experience of loss, and this grief is sacred, I continue to meet it.
My body has dropped into the space I was in last year in the last two weeks of my moms life on this plane. My appetite is almost gone. I can’t sleep, even with my nighttime routine. My body is heavy and even when with others I feel the isolating feeling and weight that I felt in my room at my parents house at night while my mom was slowly slipping away. My energy and capacity have reverted right back to last year, and I have felt the emotional shift in myself like a slow motion avalanche from July through now (the end of August). My headaches and pain flare ups have increased in frequency, and it is challenging to focus. There is deep rooted surrender, vivd dreams, and long periods of physical rest.
I’m here in 2026 and I am there in 2025.
I changed when my mom passed. My DNA shifted and I became different. I am still figuring out what it means to be without her and with her. Learning this physical absence and spiritual presence. Listening deeper, finding her lessons in my daily life.
I imagine her across the veil:
I imagine her restful, full of healing and moving through life times.
I imagine her as a little girl at the feet of her ancestors in the spirit realm, running and playing with kin in the South Mills fields of now and of her childhood.
I imagine her in her 20s and 30s dancing and singing, engaging with the spirits of folks who offered her so much through their gifts; Audre Lorde, Aretha Franklin, Luther Vandross and so many more.
I imagine her undergoing healing rites and rituals to restore her health.
I imagine her asking for permission or sneaking down to see, love on, and comfort us even through this year is about all about her.
I imagine her smiling and laughing full of life and love, and also deep sadness weeping for the world. Full of anger and rage.
I imagine her learning, learning how to become the ancestor she wants to be. She still prays.
I imagine her joy in being held in love and protected by and with her family and friends. At home enjoying a loving embrace from Papa, Mama, Nana, and Uncle Roger. Sharing a drink with Aunt Sylvia. I imagine her being poured into.
I imagine her radiant, full of love and full of life.
This brings me ease. I am happy for her peace and I am grateful for her continued presence in my life.