Held

A Mother Tongue

Held

A Mother Tongue

After she died I cried so much and for so long that my eyes ached from the weight of it. The skin around them burned. Even at night when they were closed I could feel them pulsing, the tear ducts exhausted from so much effort.

I have a dear friend who makes creams. She gifted me one, a body butter that I slathered all over my cheeks and under my eyes as a kind of ritual, it was a love potion. I had never before felt healing come from something so ordinary. I have not stopped covering my skin in that magnificent balm, even though it has been more than two years.

I even took the cream with me when five months into my grieving I thought it would be wise to travel to Thailand. I felt unmoored after losing my mother. I had never before realized that the umbilical cord we cut at birth pulses throughout our lives, a sort of spiritual connection that remains even when we live thousands of miles away. When my mother died there was a huge chasm. It felt like the rope that had kept me tethered to this world was disappearing and I feared I would float away into space.

So instead I boarded a plane and headed to Thailand. I think I went because I wasn’t ready to stop crying. I wanted to be in a place where no one knew my story and I could just wander and let the tears flow without judgement.

The journey started with massage, the smell of limes being squeezed into warm water where my feet were soaking. It continued with walks on long country roads, more massage, fruit shakes, more massage, and vegan meals. In my final days there I travelled to an island for a cleanse.

It was a 4 day cleanse, 3 juices a day, and a series of treatments including 2 enemas daily. From the outside the place looked sweet. There were palm trees, a swimming pool, open cafe facing the shore. But as soon as I arrived my body felt strange; like I knew I was meant to be there but the vibe was off.

The first night I sat alone with my green juice, a notebook open on my lap, watching a couple at a table nearby. I found myself wondering who, in the depths of grief, thinks it’s a good idea to fly to a foreign country, consume nothing but juice and willingly invite garlic and coffee to enter the body backwards.

My words did backflips on the page, the wind began to smack my body around. I went to look for medical staff. I was stumbling around and berating myself that this place probably wasn’t even legit. By the time I made my way to the to the outdoor lobby my head was pulsing and spinning. There was no sky, there was no ground.

I was greeted by a gaggle of Thai women who could not understand my words. They did however understand what I looked like as they ran around me lying me down on a bench a few at my feet rubbing oils, a few at my head with strong, menthol scents for me to smell, tingling sensations were being rubbed into the skin on my neck and I could hear the gongs of the yoga class taking place on the roof up above. My tears flowed and did not stop. There I was on a bench in the evening breeze, my head pounding when I finally let go, trusting that I would not float away. With so many hands holding me, I floated in a womb of tears, women speaking the language of mother.