Ain't So Silly This April 1st

Today is the first day of April. I had planned to be ready to charge forward with plans and projects because with a new month, new chapters and fresh beginnings are born. But today is turning out to be more emotional than practical. Heaviness of mind and body has taken center stage and kicked all other plans of productivity aside.

Feeling this way, reflecting, and maneuvering through the past did not seem so "new" or "forward" at first. A lot has happened this month, however, and as those events slowly become part of me, they are rendering a newer, altered me that can't help but to view the past through a slightly different lens. Memories of my mom seem to be hiding behind every corner, and returning home to my sister earlier this month has made me address past beliefs, narratives, and relationships. Even though I think about my mom, our losses, and my personal growth a lot, my visit made way for a whole new array of emotional waves, each reaching foreign peaks and crashing in ways I had not seen before.

Now that I'm back in NYC, in my own familiar space, I realize that emotionally, I'm roaming in completely new territory, managing feelings I've never pressed up against before. Like surrendering to Savasana after experiencing the work and effort of doing the yoga, I'm trying to let this month's experiences settle and calm; I'm attempting to understand all the pieces and the happenings of March as it trickles in through my skin and takes root within my cells as pain and lessons learned, as moments of pride and shining love, and as one complete and total life experience. Today I find myself sitting in Washington Square Park, a place I frequent when I'm feeling glum or out of balance. I watch grandmothers hold the hands of hiply-dressed grandchildren who jump from bench to bench. There are tour groups among tour groups of prospective NYU freshman. I see the parents glancing from one end of the park to the other, searching intently and trying to gather a feel for the place that very well may house their child as he or she blooms into an adult. They must be thinking about how this may be the place, institution, and city that they will pass the baton of parental responsibility over to- the entity that will provide guidance and nurturance in their place. I remember coming here myself with my mom, though I don't remember much abut where exactly we went or what we were told. I simply remember her. I remember getting so excited alongside her, adventuring around the city with her, eating breakfast at the trendy hotel we were staying in with her. I remember being just two girls in the city with her, on the same page, moving along at the same pace. We were both so present, so THERE and we knew that trip was ours, and ours only. I think about how she planned that entire East Coast college excursion, from New York to Penn, to Boston. I think about how she just said yes and was ready to support, ready to really be WITH me instead of her usual: trying to evoke something FROM me. I imagine her sitting at her desk at home, searching online for restaurants, booking hotels, making reservations, creating opportunities for us. I think of all the papers she printed, all the itineraries, and the directions from Mapquest. I'll never forget the huge stack it made, and how she kept it safe in its special manilla envelope as if it was sacred. I think of the rain, the traffic, and the blaring laughs we shared through it- how belly laughs and smiles pierced through any possibility of mayhem or annoyance. I think of her right shoulder, and how it was the closest part of her to me from where I sat in the passenger seat. It was always so smooth and warm. I think of her pride and how she said "I can't believe my baby is going to college." Now, I still can't believe she's not here. That she wasn't here to see me graduate from the place that we both fell in love with, together- the place that she handed that baton off to; the place that she gave me the OK to start my life in. And boy did I! But I never got to share that with her. Here, from my bench in the park I see those high schoolers with their parents, kids trying to play it cool, kids trying to find their path to the college students they hope to be. I watch the kids who clearly would rather their parents not be present, not be involved with their business, or simply not be clashing with their outfit. I think of how lucky I was to be so close to my mom at that time. I think about how I had the most fun with her out of anyone. I look back to our inside jokes, our observing then whispering to one another throughout tours, and our roaring giggles at nothing. I think about the silences we were finally comfortable sharing during that trip. I think about waking up in the front seat, my face warmed from the sun gleaming through the windshield, to see my mom's serene face. I remember how she'd say, "Good nap, Baby?" just happy that she could hold space for and guide me along this last little bit of road we had together before I'd take off to fly on my own in college. I think about that time and experience that existed solely between us. I think about how that week we spent together was almost 6 years ago, and I wish I could touch her warm shoulder one last time and whisper, "Thank you, Mom."