In improv lingo “going into the cave” means taking a risk or taking on the thing that scares you.
In an scene, if your character comes up to a cave where there’s a lion, you’ve got a choice. You can stay safe outside the cave or go into the cave and find out what happens. Perhaps you get eaten by the lion. That would be terrible in real life but is wonderful in improvisation because now you have the opportunity to find out “what comes next?” — do you survive in the lion’s stomach like Jonah in the whale? Or move on to the afterlife and explore Heaven or Hell or some alternative? Are you absorbed into the lion’s consciousness? Or reincarnated as a lion? In the world of imagination, there are limitless possibilities IF we are willing to go into the cave.
I’ve found that the practice of going into the cave through improvisational play has helped me be more brave when I have a real life cave to enter. There’s plenty of research as well as anecdotal evidence of how children work things out through play, I believe it holds true for our whole lives if we are willing to continue to play.
LP is circling in on asking about my mom. That’s a cave for me.
My mom, Joan, died when I was 16. I’ve had many years now to grieve, mourn, miss her, come to peace with life without her and go through that cycle again when life events stir up my desire to share great happiness or have her love and support in difficult times. Becoming a mother certainly has stirred that pot many times. Overall my experience has been that being a mom reconnects me with her spirit and reminds me of her in positive ways. And…I know that at some point, LP will want to know where her other grandmother is (and ImprovDad’s father as well but that is his story to tell).
We have photos of my mom. LP has a few things that my mom made for me when I was young including a cat pillow my mom made that we call the “Mama’s Mama Cat.” I’ve told LP stories (especially during some rough times in the middle of the night) that start “When I was a little girl and having a hard time, my Mama would…” These objects and stories are for me, a sweet spirit connection between my mom and my daughter.
A few weeks ago, when I picked her up at preschool, LP asked “When will Joan pick you up?”
For a moment I couldn’t breathe. I was surprised at the question and not sure how to answer. My heart sank and all my fears about not knowing what to say bubbled up inside. Hello cave. LP has only recently started the questions about death with all the innocence of 4 years old and ImprovDad and I are walking that line of answering her questions openly (hopefully with ease) while not giving her more information than she’s ready for.
In the moment I gave her an honest but somewhat evasive answer along the lines of “I’m a big person and mamas don’t usually pick up big people.” As I took the time to reflect on the interaction and let the sadness be present, I realized the other side of going into this cave. Although it is sad for me both because I miss my mom and because it leads to LP’s awareness that ImprovDad & I will someday die as will she, I can look forward to sharing more about my mom with LP and there is a lot of joy in that thought. LP’s awakening to who is missing in her life, is an opportunity.
Yesterday LP asked “Will Joan look more like you?” (She’s overheard people comment many times at how much I look like my mom.) It is the first time that she has asked about my mom that I greeted her questions with a genuine smile. And I said something along the lines of “I do look more like my mom as I get older.” It was all she needed in that moment and her attention shifted to the next thing.
I know that over the years we will have many different kinds of interactions both around her growing understanding of death and about my mom in specific. Allowing my internal state to shift has made that cave not so scary.
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