Turn Around

New Zealand wild beauty

Here I am, back in the United States of America for the first time since September 12 of last year. Following the scenario that seems sketched out for my life, THE DREAM has surprised me again and put me on a stage with a strange set and I have to improvise my part.

In New Zealand I had spent ten days on the south island and was preparing to go to the north island and explore further, making paintings, writing, and producing photographs when my mother died suddenly. I had been feeling strange for about week—bewilderment and tinges of grief after being adrift for so long, and then the news arrived to complicate my inner life further. Perhaps I had been unconsciously anticipating the death, knowing it would happen soon. My mother and I always affirmed our bond with each other by ending our conversations with statements of love and affection.

I felt better after determining to go back for the memorial. Yes, I would not be visiting the spectacular north island and doing what I had planned, but I would be going “home” and getting closure, bonding and celebrating with others my mother's life.

The home of my parents in Santa Barbara, California, USA

I have been alone in the home of my parents for several days. My sister arrived last night and a brother is to arrive today. Another brother is already living in Santa Barbara, and one brother is not coming—he lives in New York state. I have had continued feelings of being adrift and not knowing the future or being excited about it. But I am working at improving. There are reasons for everything that I feel, going back over the years and now with the loss of my mother. But yesterday I realized I could turn around the feelings of grief that are associated with loss. It takes willpower but I am doing it consciously—celebrating instead of grieving.

An "angel" cloud that formed over the house, the second night

That Night She Died

Chloris Boone, about 21 years old

I hope she does not die while I am in foreign lands. This thought occurred several times before leaving the United States last September. My mother had escaped death before, astonishing even seasoned workers in the hospice field. At one point I had been called to her side by both her caregivers who were certain she was dying, and after flying from New Mexico to California and arriving at her side, that evening she beat me at a game of cards. My brother and sister who live nearby shook their heads at her turn around but did not put it past her. I stayed another seven days, waiting for her to die, but she was phenomenal. Her neighbor arrived with a fresh bag of books from the library, which she finished in no time, (with speed-reading skill), and we watched music videos together and listened to her favorite rock groups—The Eagles, and The Band. When I left, I swore I would not be jumping on an airplane every several months when an alarm went off.

About the time I arrived in New Zealand from Bali, Indonesia, I was four months into travel and began having morbid feelings but could not decipher them. Perhaps I had become too unsettled from travel around the globe. Maybe I was not prepared to go home and start hustling for income. Had I not resolved the hurt from divorce a year earlier? 
 

With her five children

New Zealand's beauty and majesty entranced me and I threw myself into it, yet could not shake feelings of sadness. Then came a message from one of the caretakers that Mom's heart was failing and to please call. I spoke with my mother and she sounded far away and muffled. She wanted to know where I was. The next day I called again and she sounded much better, even accusing me of being narcissistic like my father and reminding me of the fable of the young man who fell in love with his image reflected in a pond. After I took exception and remarked I am quite aware of my flaws, she apologized and asked when would I go home to people who love me and want to see me. That night she died.

Her body has already been cremated. I am cutting short my time in New Zealand to go to Santa Barbara where my siblings have scheduled a memorial. I feel better now. My last ticket is to go home—not to mine, but to where my father and mother lived contentedly for 35 years.

More writing about Chloris and her home:

Private Sanctuary Of Love 

The Jig  

Created With Loving Care  

 

Chloris Boone,  08/26/1932 - 01/21/2016

New Zealand, South Island