My mom called Thursday night to tell me my Aunt Mungie, who lives back East, passed away earlier that evening. She is one of my late father’s surviving four sisters that I wrote about in a previous blog titled The Queens From Whence I Came. She was a private person so I won’t go into detail about her passing, but she had a chronic medical condition and a few other diagnoses the past few years that were just too much to overcome. I knew she wasn’t doing well. I knew it, but I had not spoken to her in years because I didn’t pick up the phone to call her. Not even when my mom called a short while ago to tell me Aunt Mungie had had a stroke and was asking for me and my sister Michelle, who live in California.  I can’t really tell you why I didn’t call her. Part of my thinking was that I didn’t have my cousin Debbie or Dawn’s phone numbers. But I found out when I called them this weekend that their numbers were on my cell phone. If I’m being honest I was probably afraid to call her after so much time and maybe I didn’t want to have to face how sick she’d become. She was an awesome aunt and the center of her family unit. She was such an active dynamo right up until she physically couldn’t be. She was irascible, never a complainer, a straight shooter with a great sense of humor. You never doubted her love and concern. Her daughters were part of a passel of big cousins I looked up to as a girl and as a woman. It was too late to start calling back East Thursday night so I went to bed. I woke up to a private Facebook message from one of my sisters, who lives back East.

Let me explain that I have five sisters and 1 brother. We are all the children of my father, Billy Harty. I was raised by my mother with my sister, Michelle, who is five years younger than me. My mom married my Dad out of high school then left him when I was 7 or 8 years old. My brother, Bobby, is the oldest grew up with his family in Pennsylvania, without my our Dad. There are three sisters, Yana, Megan, and Myla, who lived with their mom, Teri and Daddy until his death in 1998. I have another sister Rena, who was born and raised in San Francisco with her mom, Marilyn and for a very brief time, Daddy. Daddy was the “glue” connecting us to his side of the family when he was alive. He took the initiative to take Teri and the girls to family functions. He flew Rena out to Pennsylvania for a few weeks every summer to get to know her sisters. He stayed in touch with his own sisters. He kept me and my sister Michelle informed on what was going on with his family. Then he died in 1998. Michelle and I went back for his funeral. Rena’s mother sent her back too. It was the first time all of his children had been together in one place. It was surreal. I reconnected with all of my aunts, uncles, cousins and old family friends. Then I lost my connection to them for 10 years.

Getting back to my sister’s private message Friday. She was heartbroken over Aunt Mungie and overwhelmed with guilt for not seeing the family over the years. She wanted me to know, in case the sky opened up tomorrow, that she loved me. I was so moved by her message and I could relate to the guilt. I urged her to love the ones who are in her life now, that it’s never too late and, of course, I loved her too. Plus, she was the only relative from back East that has read and acknowledged my blog. We keep connected through Facebook. Friday night after work, I dove into my tub of photos and found all of the pictures I took when I went back for Daddy’s funeral. The emotion and grief overtook me when I found that first picture of Aunt Mungie standing next to Aunt Marie in Marie’s kitchen because everyone gathered at Marie’s house every day. I spent Friday evening posting pictures to my Facebook page of my Aunts with their children, my cousins with #FlashbackFriday. I normally compose my blogs the night before they post. For Saturday, I decided to put up a link to a previous post about my paternal grandmother, my aunts and my mother with a sentence about love and legacy with a small tribute to Aunt Munge.

Saturday morning I woke up and following my own advice to my sister, I called Aunt Marie. I don’t know why I was so nervous or concerned, it was an amazing call. I got to listen as Aunt Marie talked about Aunt Munge’s last days because Aunt Marie and Aunt Munge’s best friend went over every day to help with her. Aunt Marie is a character and she was able to share some of the lighthearted moments as well as some of the heavier truths about the reality of caring for and connecting with her sister. I got filled in on the family. My next call was to Aunt Marva, who surprised me by reminding me that she keeps tabs on me through Facebook. We talked about how big my grandbabies are getting and how beautiful they are. She was as kind, considerate and reassuring as ever with not an ounce of censure for not calling for so long. From my Aunt Patty, I found out Aunt Munge had made all of her funeral and service arrangements, including full payment back in 1998. The year Daddy died.

Throughout the weekend I received a call from my middle child, Lyndon, to see if I was ok and to talk for a little bit. I talked to my Mom Friday night and my sister Michelle Saturday morning. This morning I received another private message from the same sister back East. She’d called and spoken to Aunt Marie too. She was feeling a lot better and thanked me for encouraging her with my message that it’s never too late. 

We may lose our Queens but their love and legacy live on in the memories and souls of sons, daughters, granddaughters, grandsons, sisters, brothers, husbands, nieces, nephews and great-grandchildren… Rather than compose something new I’ve chosen to link you to an older post:

http://buildyourownbrave.com/2015/09/03/the-queens-from-whence-i-came/

RIP Virginia Reeves aka Aunt Mungie, wife of Tom, mother of Dawn and Debbie, Nanny to Deanna, Demarcus, Taylor, Tyra and Braylen. Sister of Marie, Marva and Patty. Aunt of too many to name. A woman who meant so much to so very many.

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve dated or been in a relationship. Somewhere north of 15 years but south of 20. Yes, it’s been THAT long. So it’s kind of a big deal to put me out there.  Yet, it doesn’t really feel like a big deal. Plus the question isn’t really to date or not to date. It’s not even a question of am I ready. I’ve been ready to date for a while now. I’ve gotten over the fear of losing my sense of self over a man because truly, what you see is what you’ll get. I’m happy and self-assured with who I am and what I can offer today. I’m over the unrealistic romantic notions of dating and relationships that I didn’t know I carried until I started to recognize and accept honest, healthy examples my friends showed me.

It’s been seven years since I had that identity crisis of not knowing who I was and not wanting to go another 12 years without a relationship. Because that was the other part of my fear and upset when I confessed to my then new spiritual advisor in my blog http://buildyourownbrave.com/2016/02/16/what-i-bring-to-the-table/. I didn’t want to be alone for the rest of my life but I didn’t know or trust who I was at the time. But now? To paraphrase that fabulous Virgina Slims ad, “I’ve come a long way, baby!”

The reason this is coming up because a new co-worker, who recently starting dating suggested I try a social media app called Tinder. The first time she mentioned it, I didn’t really give it much thought. But a day or so later, she turned to me to again to clarify that Tinder is a really good app for meeting people. It didn’t have to be a “hook-up” as it’s usually known for. She was really enthusiastic about it and I gave it some thought. Then this weekend I was watching a talk show on the OWN network called It’s Not You, It’s Men. They had the founder of Tinder and a sociologist talking about how the app worked. This felt like a little more than a coincidence so I posted a status on Facebook stating that I was thinking of trying Tinder and asked for comments, concerns or suggestions. As you can imagine, or already saw or personally responded, I had all manner of comments, concerns, and suggestions. I had some reach out to me via private message with good feedback and suggestions on other social media sites based on their experience. A friend or two approached me at work to express their opinions too. Honestly, it was pretty amusing and very, very touching to feel the love and concern of my tribe. 

The answer to the blog topic is no, that is not the question. The question is that with so much on my plate already concerning recovery, blogging, yoga with upcoming yoga training, writing workshops, working towards my Work/Life Mission, being a long distance but crazy-in-love Mae-Mae (grandma) and working at a full-time stressful job, do I even want to throw DATING into the mix??? Considering the energy, time and effort I might have to use weeding through posers, jokers, players, and cheaters; probably not. HA HA! Probably not, at least not right now. But it feels good to know I’m a little closer. More importantly, it feels incredible to know I’m not driven by any unhealthy need to “find” someone to “complete or rescue” me. Until then, you KNOW I’ll keep ya posted! 

I first heard this term holding space from my then new yoga teacher last summer when I started attending classes. I wasn’t sure that it meant, but she would say it often when referring to why she laughs while teaching classes instead of cries as emotions come up for her when she holds certain asanas (poses). Or why she doesn’t do Savasana (corpse pose) at the end of class with us. She’d say she couldn’t because she was holding space for us, students. Gradually I started to sense what this term meant based on how I progressively felt with each yoga class. I felt safe but in a broader, deeper sense of the word. Not just safe physically, but emotionally, spiritually and mentally. An all encompassing safety which allows for me to be challenged by the asanas or even myself. An all encompassing safety which allows for emotions, often accompanied with tears and feelings of grief or loss. A space where there is no judgment, condemnation or censure. There is acceptance, encouragement, support, humor and love without conditions. It’s absolutely incredible and so wonderful to experience. I think of Bright Yoga as my home studio. I’ve done yoga in other places, like a yoga manifestation retreat in Ojai and My Om Yoga studio in Huntington Beach for an essential oils lecture with a sound bath. They’ve been challenging and transformative in the case of the retreat and just phenomenal in the case of the sound bath. I am sure I will venture to other studios for various yoga related activities and events, but Bright Yoga is where my regular practice and primary yogini bonds are formed. It’s not just the teachers, my other fellow students are just as responsible for creating room for our teachers to hold space for us! The best part of this is our teachers are always encouraging us to create and maintain a home practice of yoga, which in turn teaches us to hold space for ourselves.

I’d been thinking about writing a blog on this topic when a fellow writer posted a link which explained it so perfectly. In my research of this term hold space, I was directed again and again to an academic named Heather Plett who wrote a blog about what the phrase meant for her, which went viral. She defined it as this,  “It means that we are willing to walk alongside another person in whatever journey they’re on without judging them, making them feel inadequate, trying to fix them, or trying to impact the outcome. When we hold space for other people, we open our hearts, offer unconditional support, and let go of judgment and control.” Here is the link my writer friend posted on Facebook, which is an article by Heather Plett herself: http://heatherplett.com/2015/03/hold-space/

Looking back over my life, I realize my 12 step meetings were the first places to hold space for me when I so desperately needed it. The meetings, in turn, encouraged me to get a spiritual advisor, known as a sponsor, to guide me through the 12 steps. These advisors walked with us through our journey of recovery, without judgment yet providing guidance with unconditional support as we worked on ourselves. Sound familiar? Eventually, this taught spiritual discernment in seeking out, being drawn to or recognizing people and places that can hold space for me. All before I had a true definition or recognition of the thing. I just love getting a glimpse of how God and The Universe can unfold for us.

So to answer my original question in my blog topic, my kick-ass therapist is a no brainer, as is my spiritual advisor. The facilitator of The Big Island Writers Workshop, Beth Bornstein Dunnington, does a phenomenal job of  holding space for us writers to discover our stories, explore them in a deeper way and share them. I have many, many friends who love me dearly but less than a handful that can hold space, and that’s mainly because it’s damn near impossible to not want to fix or impact an outcome for someone you love that is hurting or struggling. I’m not talking about “yes” friends who co-sign bullshit either, I moved away from those types of friendships years ago. I’m talking about the one or two friends you can go to with your heart cracked wide open, your world falling apart or your back against the wall. The rare friend that will hold your hand or walk beside you giving you silent compassion and space to grieve, hurt, learn the lesson and grow stronger. Without judgment, advice, rescue or taking control. It’s a priceless, invaluable privilege to have these people in my life and I aspire to give them the same.