Lisa Hopkins: Reverence

In this episode Lisa honors her mother and reflects on what she's learned since her passing 4 years ago.

"Have you ever thought about what might be different 4 years from now that will change your life forever? Neither had I. "

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Transcript

November 1st, 2021

Reverence is the last exercise of a ballet class, in which the ballet dancers pay respect to and acknowledge the teacher and the accompanist. It is in that spirit that today I pay respect to one of my greatest teachers. 

Have you ever thought about what might be different 4 years from now? Not something that you can steer or control. Not something that you can manifest or aspire to, but rather something that is out of your control but that will affect you deeply when it happens?

It’s not something you’ve had a chance to fear because it isn’t something that you would have ever foreseen. 

My mother was seemingly one of the healthiest people you'd ever meet. She was full of life. A dancer, a bon vivant, an alchemist - a mermaid. 

Words that people might have used to describe her were “vibrant”,”gorgeous” ‘energetic”, “fit”, “inspiring”. I might use the words stubborn, vulnerable, childlike maybe even insecure. She never showed this side of herself beyond the confines of her nuclear family , in fact I'm not certain it even went much further than between her and I, in those intimate moments we spent together dancing in the studio - just because. Fierce also comes to me as a word I’d use to describe her. That is, fiercely loyal - to those she loved.

Have you ever thought about what might be different 4 years from now that will change your life forever?

Neither had I. 

When I got the call I was in the pizza parlor in Harlem. We had walked more than seven miles that day - for no reason other than to keep moving. I felt somehow like we were waiting. Two hours after I got the call, I was at the airport, another two and I was by her side. My instinct was to try and normalize the situation. Mom HATED hospitals and we were all understandably confused about what was going on. Her only symptom was feeling tired. It was almost absurd. I relieved my dad and brother and spent the night in a chair, at the foot of her bed. We chatted and laughed a bit, barely sleeping nervously waiting to see what was next. Two weeks later she was gone.

Tomorrow, on November 2nd,  it will be 4 years since mom’s final reverence. I didn't plan on writing about her today and yet here I am. I looked through my notes and discovered a passage I wrote 2 years ago on this very same day. There really are no coincidences. On 

Friday November 1st, 2019 I wrote:

"She always told me she dreamed about me. It wasn’t important what she dreamed, only that I knew that I was on her mind always - just as she is in mine every day since that day two years ago today when we last spoke. Today I am out of sorts. I hadn’t actually realized it until just now. If I were coaching myself I’d acknowledge and validate my feelings. Instead I sit at my desk in Harlem writing this. Mom never knew about my coaching."

Two years later, I sit writing on this day again. It was unusually dark this morning when I began but the sun is starting to peek through the November sky now.  As I consider that Mom will never know about my podcast either, I reflect on the notion that “things” don’t matter in the immortal world and that by sharing her with you, she will receive my reverence.

I’m Lisa Hopkins, thanks for listening. Stay safe and healthy everyone and remember to live in the moment. 💜🙏