Welcome to the March Edition of Mourning Glow; that one time a month we take a break from the sex, dating and relationship diaries to focus on our slow roll.

In short, the Mourning Glow is an offering of 3 ideas, tips or suggestions on how to ease into your day. But we all know I will never take a break from talking about sex (solo included) and dating entirely. I won’t say it’s the glow of ‘Mourning Glow’ or the cornerstone of slow rolling, but I wont’ say it’s not either.

However, this months is not like the others. As much as I tried to write a fun, prescriptive column for you, I couldn’t get it out.

The Mourning Glow is real, y’all.. and sex isn’t the answer this time.

Writing and sharing is. (there’s my advice)

I’m going to let the words about where I am at the moment fall on the page as a way to move through it.

As always, thank you for being here to listen.

xx,

ash

*ps. I did add some new songs to the mourning glow playlist on Spotify here

…if you’re a Tantrik, you don’t renounce the world or deny it’s value; you don’t try to escape into Nirvana apart from life, as the monks of the Southern School do. No, you accept the world and you make use of it; you make use of everything you do, of everything that happens to you, of all the things you see and hear and taste and touch, as so many means to your liberation from the prison of yourself. excerpt from Island by Aldous Huxley

I was sitting across from my friend whom I hadn’t seen in 8 or so months, eating dinner when he asked,

How have you been since your mom passed? How are you now?

You know, I thought I was fine, but then a few weeks ago, it hit me in an overwhelming way.

What happened? Anything specific?

Not really. I was in my office working, writing content and then suddenly I was sobbing and writing about her. It’s such a mind fuck. I thought I had grieved losing her years ago but man, as real as the ambiguous loss was, and letting go of who my mom was, processing losing her in the physical form has been something I did not expect. I’m used to not talking to my mom and not seeing her. I went years without hearing her voice. Over a decade without seeing her. I guess I thought it would be easier.

The NY marathon brings it up because we had our last conversations the weekend of. The last texts she sent before she died were pictures of Faith and I completing it sharing with everyone how proud she was. That whole experience is now muddied with her dying. I can’t think of one without the other. When I see her dog Chloe, my heart actually aches. I feel like she’s the one who lost a parent. In a weird way though, I need those things to remind me that she is gone. I have to purposefully go there.

I’m sorry, he said.

Thank you, I said and then shoved a taco in my mouth.

The next day I was in my car running errands when Wonderwall, by Oasis came on the radio.

I was listening to it and singing along…

And all the roads we have to walk are winding

And all the lights that lead us there are blinding

There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don’t know how

Because maybe, you’re gonna be one the saves me

And after all

You’re my Wonderwall

And there I was, sitting at a red light crying about my mom.

When I pulled into the parking lot at the grocery store, I realized it wasn’t the random writing or work that I had been doing that provoked my grief a few weeks ago. It was the album Gaslighter by The Chicks. An album that has become an anthem of sorts for me not only grieving the loss of my mother in the physical form, but what the emotional journey felt like as a child losing her to drugs and alcohol. The unfolding of each song comes as close to describing the last forty years of my own personal struggle with my moms addiction as any.

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The album is actually about a woman processing the betrayal and pain she experienced after discovering her husband of twenty years had been cheating on her.

This has been music for me in general. Songs that are reminiscent of painful love stories; songs of longing and heartbreak; the ones most people would associate to romantic partners, beckon my mother.

To this day, I can’t play or hear Ordinary World by Duran Duran without a visceral response.

For the longest time I couldn’t remember why that song triggered me the way it did. When I would hear it, my chest and throat would lock up and my entire body would threaten to sink me. It wasn’t until I was in my thirties, the memories of the first time I heard it resurfaced.

I was with my brother and his best friend driving back home after visiting my mother in an institution. I sat between them in the small Toyota pickup while the radio played this song. I held my breath and body tight, trying not to cry. Impossible to hold back, the tears streamed down my face while I stared at the road ahead in silence.

I remember only getting to visit her once. She was so excited to see me. The way she always was after prolonged periods of separation.

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Come here, I want you to meet so and so. She’s so cool! she said as she took my hand.

So and so was maybe 16 or 17, had bleached hair, cuts and scratches on her skin and piercings. I listened without hearing anything my mom was saying as she raved about her to me, in front of her. The girl didn’t talk to me.

Wide-eyed and consumed with confusion and jealousy, I glanced back and forth between my mom and so and so. Why does so and so get my mom? Does she love her more than me?

We sat in a circle with others who had also been admitted. I don’t recall for how long, only that I couldn't keep my eyes off my mom. She seemed so happy.

A couple of decades later, I now know institutions were my moms happy place. The last time I saw her she pointed out her favorite one to me while we were driving…

Ohhh Ashley, they have the BEST drugs there. They wouldn’t let me come back though. They said I didn’t need to be there! What do they know?!

Gosh mom, I joked. They must not have known the real you or they would have definitely admitted you.

She burst out laughing and then looked at me with a smile.

Yah, that’s right she said, nodding her head up and down to the music and grabbing my hand.

We had that relationship those last months of her life. One where I finally accepted her, for her.

The day I got the phone call my mom died, I was driving home and Loves Me Like A Rock by Paul Simon came on. I laughed and cried at the irony of the timing and turned it up. I knew she was telling me what took me forever to see; that even though she hadn’t been there, she had always loved me… and will continue to do so now, like a rock.

Unfortunately, it took me most of my life with her to discover this.

To arrive at all is never too late, but I can assure you there will always be a piece of me that regrets not getting there sooner.

The Sex is Great by Ashley Kelsch

Mourning Glow Edition 3