When my mother died, there was only one place to cry: Disneyland

My mother, Donna, unexpectedly died earlier this month. A recent Tuesday morning, she got up normally and even went to the show. That evening, she was in the hospital. Thirty-six hours later, she left. These were among the most difficult weeks of my life.

I spent the first half of March at home near Chicago to cry with my family and I probably visit often throughout the year to continue the process. I never liked the past – afflicted – because that implies a conclusion to something that changes us, changes our course and continues to define us. There is no neat arc for a box that can be comfortably closed and compartmentalized – here are the memories of a loved one.

And yet, we survive, hope it with something learning.

By going back to my residence adopted in Los Angeles, I did what I always do down: I spent time with my cat, I listened to records and then Disneyland visitedThe so-called the happiest place in the world. The Pirates of the Caribbean were always the first stop of my family, and when I made the trip, I tried to remember family trips – my parents rushing towards the attraction and my brother trying to take photos without flash, letting the boat that flow calmly back to a more previous and more edifying time. But I especially spent the day trying to absorb the atmosphere. My mind needed happiness and joy, and environments that aim to comfort.

Like many in America, I grew up with parents who devoted most of their holidays to Disney theme parks. I maintained the tradition – I write on the themed parks to live, but I also often go to Disneyland during my free time. So much so that once later in life, my mother even questioned him, perplexed by my desire to re-mimic the park in good or bad times. Job promotion? On the way to Disneyland. A break? Disneyland again. The recent devastating fires that hit our region? Disneyland was there for me.

“I wonder what we have made to you that makes you go so often,” said my master's degree a few years ago on the phone while I sat in the hall of the Grand California hotel in Disney. I did not really answer – I laughed, I probably sighs – but with hindsight, I would have liked to be a little more talkative. I would have reminded my mother what she did, because in Disneyland I saw A lot of lessons She tried to transmit.

So today, I will tell you what you did that makes me go to Disneyland so often. You instilled me a belief in goodness. You have inspired optimism, which I could and should do what I want and I am able to achieve my goals. And in one way or another – despite everything concern, and yes, my mother was very worried – there was an idea that things would work at the end, no necessary elf dust. She told me in early March that she hoped she lived long enough to read my first book, believing that my goal was an inevitability. This book will be dedicated to him.

My mom has never been tired of my crazy dreams. When I said that I wanted to be on “Saturday Night Live”, she led me to weekly improvisation lessons at Second City. And when I said that I was perhaps not funny enough to be on “Saturday Night Live”, we went to acting lessons. And when I was tired of making mistakes in the little league, my mother encouraged me to think about something else. I was afraid. My mother recognized my early tendency to avoid confrontation, and I was afraid that my father was upset. But my mother sat and carefully explained what to say and how to be honest and express what I wanted. My father, of course, was not upset.

It is in moments like these that this kid who loves fairies saw the hopes and imagination of my mother. I had long thought that we are not going in themed parks to escape the world as much as to help to understandBecause in Disneyland, we see our tales and cultural stories reflected. An attraction like the enchanted wish of Snow White does not just concern happiness forever; Throughout, we see hard work, perseverance and unexpected tragedies. In addition, it is Recently refreshed end Center the dependence of Snow White to the community rather than her magic husband, and maintains that true love only comes after having taken time and efforts.

Alice in Wonderland has the unpredictability of life and gives it a technical whirlwind, assuring us that our nightmares are really only dreams. Mr. Toad's Wild Ride throws us deep into our vices in a statement from our own agency. It is a little world, via its fantasy and its childish wonder, clearly shows that we are not really different, which makes divisions and hatred in the world temporarily devoid of meaning. The Pirates of the Caribbean show the ways whose greed and delicacy transform us into caricatures, while the haunted manor finds frivolity in the beyond, reminding us of enjoying our time while we are here.

The author, Todd Martens, on the left, and his mother, gave, during a recent marriage in Chicago. Donna died unexpectedly this month.

(The Martens family)

Because in Disneyland, exaggerations are the norm, and if we let ourselves be lived in these abstract worlds, we can feel their increased emotions. And what I admired the most about my mother, who worked most of her life as a preschool teacher, was both his ability to feel everything deeply and find new ways to run what was going on around her. When my friends and I broke a small vase by hitting wiffle balls inside the house for a rainy day, she did not scold. She suggested that we were rather turning to hit a dust cloth in the room. Thus, Dust Ball was born.

One thing that I will never forget is the way all world conflict when I was younger would make him the pain. She had a deeply rooted fear that war was leading to a project and my older brother would be called in service. As a young child, I did not know that she had previously experienced such moments with my father, and I did not completely understand what a project was. I just saw that my mother needed a hug.

As I get older, I saw this moment for what it was. I saw him as a sign of someone who cares deeply. Someone who feels a lot. Someone who fantasizes, brilliantly. I saw the imagination. I saw the concern. And I saw love. I also saw a way to look at life – to dream, to fear, to ask myself, to hope, and when someone asks what is wrong, to tell them and to accept this hug.

And it is therefore that I found myself in Disneyland only 48 hours after the return to Los Angeles, I wanted to partly see familiar faces. I also wanted to bask in the eternal power of fairy tales. The whole park has lessons to be transmitted, even Star Wars: Galaxy's Edge, where stories of good and bad are stand -over for wealthy and non – robust and close pure people while oppressors are obsessed with image and technological artifice.

I also wanted to remember these parental life lessons. Among the articles I brought back to Los Angeles, there was one of my mother's adult coloring books, a gift from my father that I placed on my coffee table and that I will cherish forever. I have leaned it daily since my return, smiling at his love of art and dedication to colorful crafts, but also to remind me that every day, I will have advice from my mother.

And that means kissing, worrying, wondering and dreaming. Because this is how we never stop living. And my mother will not stop living with me.