Catharsis and weather talk

small talk is sometimes all we have

On dementia, small talk, and trusting the perfection of all things

In this moment, I am feeling full. Full in my heart, that is. The first two weeks of August came with friendship and fun and big feelings and heart-opening celebrations & reflections that I’ve been slowly digesting.

In the digesting, I find myself doing nothing. That is to say, I am back to my slow pace, easeful routine, simplicity. Wake up, morning walk, stretch, maybe yoga, lemon water, work. Each day there is some kind of variation, some kind of adventure, but the simple routine stays true.

In this nothingness, I find myself thinking about my mom. Nowadays, most of my friends are developing new relationships with their parents. A coming-of-age, becoming-more-like-friends, evolving-into-an-adult-relationship kind of expansion.

When I was in elementary school, I used to imagine this phase as being exciting, with the energy of an early 2000s movie. And when I was in my early twenties, I thought I would never have this phase (or even want it, for that matter).

I have a lot to say about dementia, about Alzheimer’s, about fear, about acceptance. I’m sure I will write about those things at some point, but now is not the time. Instead, I want to talk about small talk.

When I was at the height of my avoidance, I would engage in a lot of small talk. A lot of I’d-rather-talk-about-anything-but-my feelings kind of conversations. In high school, I also had a consistent undercurrent of anxiety, which contributed to this significantly.

When I first started doing transformational healing work, though, I became very much a “fuck small talk” kind of person. Partially, this was because I was so new to having revealing, vulnerable, heart-centered conversations that were honest and genuine and authentic, dripping with truth. It was exciting, & I couldn’t believe I ever had a life where my only point of connection was small talk.

But when someone has an early-onset dementia diagnosis, there is nothing but small talk. At least, that’s how it is for my mom.

Rewind — there was a time in my life when I thought I would never talk to my mom again. Yet, I did so much healing, growing, opening, and expanding my capacity for forgiveness.

So when I was about 25, I was finally ready to have a relationship with her. And then, she was diagnosed with moderate-stage dementia.

There is a lot of grief in coming to terms with the fact that I will never have a normal relationship with her. There is a lot of grief in feeling like it’s too late. There will be no developing a deep, early-2000s-movie-energy type of relationship with each other.

For now, we have small talk. I talk about the weather, the rain, the sunshine, the temperature, & the clouds with fervor and zeal. And underneath the talking about the weather, I trust that more is being said.

Our souls are karmically linked, meandering and dancing with one another in this life, readying each other for the next life. I am sure I will see her there, and maybe there will be more time.

There is catharsis in talking about the weather. I trust our souls are speaking to each other, each conversation about the sun a signifier of deeper healing, steadier love.

I can see that there is perfection in all things. Forgiveness has many different faces — I am grateful for each of them.

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Here’s what’s been circulating in my ecosystem lately ❊