I’ve been writing and speaking about how to best deal with challenge and hardship in life for about 20 years now, and I have a confession to make: I don’t think that I’ve had to truly deal with hardship in my own life. If you’ve known me for any length of time this probably comes as no surprise; I talk often about my charmed existence. One of the main reasons I love Martial Arts so much is because it was the first and most consistent challenge I have faced.
If you wonder why somebody would revel in putting themselves through a challenge, it’s probably because you have different challenges in your life, challenges that you didn’t get to choose. The truth is, we can walk away from the challenges of practice and meditation at any point. That is one of the nice things about it; since we choose certain challenges, the primary experience is the high of overcoming the challenge. When we have hardships put in our lives through outside forces, however, our main experience is often something like self-pity, frustration, resentment, or some other form of taking it personally. Some of you probably experience those to some degree during Martial Arts practice, but less than say from the loss of a loved one.
Mom
Since I lost my mom to pancreatic cancer a few weeks ago, I have dealt with some of those feelings. I have often wondered how I would respond to a real hardship like losing a parent. I don’t know if I’ve dealt with it in the “right” way, but my experience has been that I’ve responded well in the face of profound loss.
I miss my mom greatly. There have been many times where I picked up the phone to call her before realizing that there is no more time to catch up, talk about our day or what is going on in the world. I’ll never again see her smiling face at the door or sing and dance with her. My kids will never get to meet her. We’ve had our last hug.
I’m deeply saddened by this. As I write, tears stream down my face. I believe it’s important for me to fully experience this loss and to be with it for a while. Sometimes I second-guess myself and wonder if I’m allowing myself to grieve enough…I assume it’ll come and go for a while and I’ve decided to be ok with whatever that looks like.
Since I have a (sometimes annoyingly) positive disposition, I mostly am still my light-hearted, energetic self. I can’t say that I feel like I have been changed in any drastic way by the loss of my mother, though I do find myself ruminating on mortality a bit more lately. Of course, since one of my mantras is to see the opportunity in every challenge, I have channeled this into appreciating every day and each moment more fully.
Rollercoaster challenge
Martial Arts and meditation have certainly prepared me for this to some extent through the practice of letting go of attachments to negative thoughts and glimpses of ego-death. I’ve gotten a few questions from students lately about the idea of cultivating an even mind without the dramatic swings up and down. Our normal experience is like a rollercoaster with highs of excitement and lows of depression. We are meant to smooth out these swings and be level headed. Yet doesn’t it seem that we should seek the highs and only try to get rid of the lows? We can try this, but highs are only highs because of accompanying lows. If we strive to push away either, we are just stuck with that attachment to avoidance. It is better to just let ourselves feel without attachment and be ok with being exactly where we are on the rollercoaster.
As I experience the aftermath of my mom’s death, I have sometimes been low, dwelling on the loss. I have also been high, remembering her amazing life and the fun times we had together. These natural rhythms are ok. I experience them, but don’t dwell on them.
While the sting of loss fades, the rollercoaster evens out. I hold onto the memories of my mom and take her with me to help me deal with life’s next challenge.
Such a heartfelt and therapeutic remembrance of your mom, Sifu. The loss of our loved ones has a way to put our life into perspective. It’s a humbling part of life, and these spiritual aspects put so much more meaning into the moments with the ones who still walk amongst us. Powerful share. Sire, and thank you.
Sifu,
Feliks and I are so sorry to hear this♥️.
You are such a great motivator, a true positron, and an amazing teacher. You have helped motivate us more than you know.
You are in our thoughts☯️
Dearest Sifu,
It is with heartfelt prayers that I express my most sincere condolences and wish you that your mother’s memory be a blessing.
Sylvia Dana
Dear Sifu,
My heart goes out to you and your family right now. Mothers are so very special. What an amazing one you must have had. May you always keep her near with your memories.
I read all of your posts and always find something in them to apply to my own life, as well as to Julian’s. We’ve been meaning to tell you how amazing you are…so I’ll just do it now.
Back when life was normal, I audited several classes at several studios before signing my son up to yours. There was just no comparison and no doubt in my mind. Your patience, respect and dedication when teaching the children is so rare. These lessons are such a gift to our family. You have instilled a love of martial arts in our son and you continue to teach him the mindset and discipline to succeed, at anything. We are so grateful for you and your positive influence. Thank you for all that you do. Please know that you have made such a difference in his life already.
The Mossa Family
Jeanette, Enrico, Julian and Danica
Sifu,
Sorry to hear of your loss. Your mom is in a better place. She is not suffering anymore and is at peace. Glad you were able to give her the last hug. Our thoughts and prayers are with you.
Dear Scot,
I am so sorry for your loss and my heartfelt prayers to you.
Apple
When we suddenly look back at the everyday moment with new fondness and realize that the beauty of that moment was also the unawareness of the expiration of time. We were just being… living, breathing and present. We were not rushed by a looming eternal goodbye. It’s a humbling experience to lose a profound loved one. It also gives us new perspective on mortality, what it means to be present in the moment, appreciate what we have infront of us, be more brave or have more caution, compassion, and wisdom (when we repeat the words of the dead or avoid mistakes they made that lead up to the death). Whatever grieving means- it’s strange, indeed like a roller coaster ride, cathartic in some ways, somber in others, some days we fell normal and other times we cry from just the tiniest trigger (first beat of a tune, a visual, a taste, a location) and that’s all part of the mystery of life.
That everyday joyful moment of you and your mom in the photo is beautiful. May your mom rest in peace and comfort, Sifu.
Dear Sifu,
When I first read your post above, I was so heartbroken for you that I didn’t know what to say. I am so sorry for your loss. Your grief, as well as your optimism, are so vivid and palpable. Thank you for allowing us to share in your vulnerability. I hope you don’t mind my saying this: I believe that you honor your mother with your practice, your work, and your conduct.
I have not lost a parent, so I cannot imagine what you are going through. If you would allow me, I’d like to share with you a passage from a book that I’ve read and re-read when I was going through some painful events in my own life. It’s called “Tiny Beautiful Things” by Cheryl Strayed. It’s an unusual book: part advice column and part personal memoir. The author writes beautifully and heartbreakingly about some very hard things in her own life as part of her response to people seeking advice. I have found not only comfort in her words, but also healing.
In this chapter, a man named Johnny wrote to seek advice regarding when is the right time to tell the woman he is dating that he loves her. Here is an excerpt from Cheryl Strayed’s response:
“Dear Johnny,
The last word my mother ever said to me was love. She was so sick and weak and out of her head she couldn’t muster the “I” or the “you,” but it didn’t matter. That puny word has the power to stand on its own.
I wasn’t with my mom when she died. No one was. She died alone in a hospital room and for so many years it felt like three quarters of my insides were frozen solid because of that. I ran it over and over it in my mind, the series of events and choices that kept me from being beside my mom in her last hours, but thinking about it didn’t do a thing. Thinking about it was a long dive into a bucket of shit that didn’t have a bottom.
I would never be with my mother when she died. She would never be alive again. The last thing that happened between us would always be the last thing. There would be the way I bent to kiss her and the way she said, “please, no,” when I got close because she couldn’t any longer bear the physical pain of people touching her. There would be the way that I explained I’d return in the morning and the way she just barely nodded in response. There would be the way I got my coat and said “I love you,” and the way she was silent until I was almost out the door and she called, “love.” And there would be the way that she was still lying in that bed when I returned the next morning, but dead.
My mother’s last word to me clanks inside me like an iron bell that someone beats at dinnertime: love, love, love, love, love.
I suppose you think this has nothing to do with your question, Johnny, but it has everything to do with my answer…
It is not so incomprehensible as you pretend, sweet pea. Love is the feeling we have for those we care deeply about and hold in high regard….
[Cheryl Strayed then goes on to discuss what love means, which I cannot possibly do justice by paraphrasing. But here is how she ends her letter to Johnny:]
Practice saying the word love to the people you love so when it matters the most to say it, you will.
We’re all going to die some day, Johnny. Hit the iron bell like it’s dinnertime.”