When will my mama forget me? Becoming fluent in the language of grief
Bling from John Onwuchekwa’s “We Go On” Tour
“The last time I made the 7-hour road trip to my parents’ house, my mom rushed out to greet me when I arrived. She lost her language in that moment. The stroke has left her with aphasia - combined with her advancing dementia - and she often finds herself frustrated by her inability to communicate. That day, she kept saying “Love. Love. Love.” The pure outpouring of her love braced my heart and simultaneously made me sad. The loss of this articulate and powerful woman, happening step by step, right in front of me. I am grateful she still recognizes me, feels safe with me, wants more time with me. What will it feel like when she doesn’t know who I am anymore? Will she recognize my spirit and energy even if she can’t put a name to my face or remember the specifics of our lives together?”
Morning coffee with my mama
I discovered the phrase “ambiguous grief” recently. It perfectly encapsulates the overwhelming sorrow I sometimes feel after spending time with my mother. Often, upon returning home, I take to my bed for a day or two, weeping, unable to function. Each return feels like a mini-death ritual, yet…she is alive. How strange my grief might seem to folks who have not accompanied a loved one through dementia; why am I so sad if she is not yet dead? I am suffering because I faced the most challenging, disorienting phase of my own mothering journey during the last years, and my mama wasn’t able to advise me, console me or hold me when I desperately needed mothering myself. My friends, therapists, coaches, and my partner all showed up to support me, but I wanted my mama. I am grieving.
This week, I attended John Onwuchekwa’s “We Go On” gathering, a radical community-based variety show to help us learn to become “fluent in the language of grief” and to simply…be together. Throughout this magical night, musicians performed, a comedian made us laugh (dark humor is the best humor!), a filmmaker presented a short film inspired by his mother’s death and John shared his wisdom on stage. As we entered the space, we were encouraged to put on a colored bracelet that identified the source of our loss & grief: grieving a loved one, grieving something health related, grieving a dream, grieving something else. The categories were purposefully broad and meant to include not just death, but also divorce, loss of a job, family estrangement, a parent with dementia. I chose two bracelets, both representing sources of my (ambiguous) grief. At various points, we held our hands up according to bracelet type, scanning the room and locking eyes with folks who are experiencing a similar version of our grief.
John’s message is that the goal isn’t to end grief; it’s to transform it, to create something meaningful from our loss. We must all get better at speaking the language of grief and sharing our stories. Show Up. Stay Connected. Grief doesn’t end, but we go on.
