Death Cafe profile for Arusha
I was my mother's only child, and she almost died giving birth to me.
We were best friends. the kind that bicker & argue all the time.
We were also so incredibly stubborn.
My mother died in 2013, when i was 32 years old.
We had just spent 18 months living together in an absurdly large house in Goa.
18 months with my mother and her liver tumour.
Her dying was an earthquake & a tsunami. i got washed away deep into grief, and self-reckoning; exploring each and every corner of our stubborn, argumentative, confusing, fragile & so deeply loving relationship.
I had a relationship with my mother as she was, and i have a relationship with my mother-as-she-is-now.
It is an ongoing journey. incredibly precious.
When she died, it took me 2 years to find the words i needed to share this journey, and as they slowly, painfully, beautifully took shape, they became the short memoir i recently published on Amazon Kindle, A Mother Dies.
What brings you to Death Cafe?
The re-emergence of conscious dying & birth practices that is happening everywhere is something i find incredibly hopeful & inspiring.
People are taking charge of their relationship with dying & their own death. I find this beautiful. This translates into taking charge of their relationship with life & aliveness.
To be able to talk about and with death, cry with death, laugh with death, grieve with death...without feeling we are doing something 'wrong' or 'inappropriate' is i feel absolutely essential to us living fully.
What would you like your legacy to be?
That my words & presence accompanies others as they journey with death, dying, grief & living; both in their fragile times & in their times of self-reckoning.
Thoughts for sharing:
I will share a dream i had, which i feel 'sums up' what death & dying means to me:
"once upon a summer night, i danced.
walking back, my footsteps stopped at the cemetery, warm hand on clammy-cold stone, i greeted the trees guarding the dead.
that night, in my dream, death was an immense snake.
'my mother died, will you take her ashes?', i asked death.
'yes, but first i must make love,' said death.
then death-snake and life-snake began to intertwine and dance :
every breath we take an exhale, is their lovemaking."