Watch the clip here before reading the article
When we’re in unfamiliar surroundings we cringe at the idea of being social with strangers. So, we go with the autonomy of pulling out our phones so we can exercise our thumbs by scrolling, liking, and commenting on social media. This calms us for a brief moment, and we open up an app waiting for the timeline to refresh. But all of a sudden we get that dreaded reloading arrow. The pictures aren’t loading. The videos won’t play fast enough. We toggle between social apps and text, trying to see if our messages will go through to any, and everyone, but they just gradually work their way through the cloud to only return with a red exclamation signaling it wasn’t delivered. We look at our service bars only to find out we barely have any, indicating poor reception. Desperately, we hold the phone in the air like we’re trying to find the best angle for a selfie, spinning in circles in hopes of “connecting.”
When we finally do, the connection is short-lived which doubles our anxiety, and we’re right back at square one! A sense of abandonment sets in, panic starts to ensue. We start thinking of ways we can keep a connection so we can just have a glimpse of normalcy again. This idea that we’re no longer connected to the world we know, even when our device is fully functional and charged. We hunt for wifi and defiantly try to hack into locked routers by guessing passwords. To no avail, we’re stuck in a loop of thought.
“I have everything and nothing at all.”
The severed connection from the thing we want at the time we need it most. Even with all of the resources around at that moment, it’s our connection that we want fixed. It’s our signal loss that is most important. Even if another person comes in and lets us use “their device” the underlying truth is that it’s unfamiliar, and we must be timid yet grateful while putting it to use.
“People who have not lost their mother don’t understand until it happens to them, the insanity that you feel. You just won’t get it. Your entier universe is ripped to shreds. You are hurtling through time and space. It’s literally like you are untethered.” -Melyssa Ford
See, I realize, not from Mel’s (as she’s called on the Joe Budden Podcast) words, but from her tone and inflection how much she craves the connection she’ll never get back. I never knew a battle like this existed. My mom died right in front of me when I was 15 years old. I talk about that tragic day in chapter nine of my book titled Unity is the Shift so I won’t go into detail here. What I will say is I was unaware of the spiritual tale spin her death would send me in. When the chord was severed as fast as it was, without any closure, or any answers, it put me at a deficit internally. The optimistic leader in me was violently uprooted from the unconditional love reinforced through her presence. Years following, I continued to mature physically while the confidence of my peaceful warrior spirit was severely stunted. Not that inflated arrogance people hide behind and say that it’s confidence, I’m not talking about that. I’m referring to a type of confidence you sense when someone is grounded in a parent’s love. A surety about holding space in the world. The surety in knowing you have love even when you make a mistake, you won’t be judged.
If my mom was just a vessel for that type of spirit, she was the vessel I wanted to experience it from. So, just like the phone in hand searching for a connection, I too was on the search for my home router. Meeting new people, making sure they didn’t know how desperately I needed connection while maintaining my mask of resilience when my story was told. I was never able to settle into being my full self, so I learned to give parts of myself to different people. Similar to social media where Instagram gets one side, Facebook gets another side, LinkedIn gets this part, Twitter gets that, etc. Now, this is the new norm whereas for me I wanted to be completely whole instead of fragmented, all the time.
“It’s a terrible club to be apart of but anybody whose lost their mom understands what it means to be apart of this club.” -Melyssa Ford
This club Mel refers to, the people whose mom died club, always welcomes new members but is never actively hoping to get any. That’s the duality. Be open arms for another member coming in yet scold the distaste for the actual cost of membership. Even still, I know a phone comparison could never bear the soul-crushing weight of losing a mother. Yet, the similarities are striking enough that I felt compelled to use it so people who haven’t lost their mom can understand the people who have in their life more.
I’m not here to make competition between losing a mom vs a dad, nor do I care to entertain the idea. They are losses that completely alter the trajectory of that child’s life regardless of age. I want everyone to remember that even when we’re adults, we’re still someone’s child. We live in that duality always navigating it as best as we can.
So, for all of us who’ve joined the club, know that I see you. Know that you’re not alone. Know that there is a connection to be made and a path for you. As you loosen the grip on the severed chord, the grip tightens on a new one. As you move forward with a tighter grip or understanding of things, it will swing you into a new space where your phone can now find a better signal and a better connection.
If there are any communities for people in “the club,” leave some resources for others to see.