On this Mother’s Day of 2020, I am especially grateful for my own mother who has always been by my side even when I didn’t think that I needed her. I am grateful for the “olden days” and growing up during the 1970s in a world where mothers such as mine trusted that their five year old children could walk home alone from the bus stop and allow their own curiosity to guide them. A world where ADHD didn’t exist because all mothers wisely knew that every child already possessed that condition and so simply allowed time in the day for aimless wandering, daydreaming and impulsive outbursts with neighborhood kids while playing games and building forts in the backyard. My mother went out of her way to make our lives special, but she never over-indulged us, coddled us or let us get away with being spoiled. And she always reminded us to appreciate and be thankful for the goodness we were given because “you never know when it all might go away.” I have struggled often in the past several weeks of this pandemic lockdown – which is why I have not been able to write lately. My heart has ached for those who have lost so much – loved ones passing away, careers, jobs and livelihoods evaporating into thin air, businesses being shuttered forever, families feeling so far apart from each other and people having to die alone. I have especially struggled as I have helplessly observed my own beautiful daughter’s immense pain at losing her “Senior Spring” of high school and the joyous companionship and celebrations with her dearest friends that usually accompany graduations. Through this, my mother and her immense wisdom has been present to guide me even from thousands of miles away as she reminded me that “We are not in charge. The Universe is in charge. God is in charge. Do not be afraid. None of us know when our time is up, but if you live and love fully, you will be at peace.”
Mother Nature is at work right now and her force is incredible. My mother is 78 years old and I do not want Mother Nature to take her from me anytime soon, but as that wise woman told me, “We are not in charge.” So in the spirit of living and loving fully, I wanted to share a memory of my mother that she can read now to know how deeply I love her, wherever her soul may ultimately wander someday.
I wanted to share that memory with all of you and I hope that it will inspire you to do the same for your mothers – still present on earth or flowing freely in the Cosmos. Write it down or say it to her out loud. All mothers love to hear the memories of their children.
Happy Mother’s Day!
The Afternoon Nap
My small body nestles up against the familiar warmth and comfort of my mother. I am not tired. I don’t think. But this is our daily ritual, and as the youngest of three daughters, I cherish this moment of the day when I have her all to myself.
The ritual begins each weekday with my ride home on the school bus. My stop is toward the end of the route and I am one of the last children on the bus. I step off into the cold air at the corner of Ridge Avenue and Hill Road and the bus driver waits while I cross the street over to Golf Lane to begin my meandering walk home. I am alone because my two older sisters stay at school all day now and kindergarten is only half of the day. I pass the Tudor house where Charlie Smith, the boy who always teases my sister, lives. I pause to stomp my red rubber boots through a slushy puddle and watch the chunks of ice move through the ripples of muddy water. I stand still, exhale and watch as my breath plumes out of my mouth forming a fleeting cloud. Bending down, I pick up a stick – trying to grasp it with the bulky shape of my damp, wool mitten that is clasped with a metal clip and elastic band to the cuff of my coat sleeve. I wander down the lane, smacking the stick against a fence post, a tree trunk, a large rock and anything else that will give a good thud – until I arrive at the wooden fence of our neighbors and greet their barking German Shephard. I talk back at him and rattle my stick through the fence trying to entertain him – but nothing softens his voice. Suddenly, I am brought to full attention by my nearly bursting bladder. I drop the stick, clutch myself between the legs to buy myself some time and quicken my pace toward home.
By the time I awkwardly make it up the driveway, squirming in every possible way in order to avoid wetting my pants, my mother is always there, smiling broadly while holding the door wide open and cheerfully saying “are you going to make it?” I drop my coat with the clipped on mittens, shed my scratchy hat with the pom-pom and make a desperate dash for the toilet. When I finally emerge from the bathroom feeling like a human being again, I make my way to the kitchen where she calmly sits at the table with lunch spread out before us. Sometimes she has prepared a bologna sandwich with Campbell’s Tomato Soup, other times we enjoy a chicken sandwich with lettuce and mayonnaise on white, Pepperidge Farm bread and a cup of Campbell’s Vegetable Beef soup and often there are long, perfectly cut carrot sticks and a small helping of Jays Potato chips. We sit together at the small table in the kitchen that was fashioned from an old iron sewing table – the wide pedal and large spinning wheel underneath a white marble top. She asks me about my day and I tell her about Show and Tell and the finger painting project we worked on, the games at recess and playing house with my friends. She listens carefully to every detail. Her loving gaze embraces me.
After we rinse and put away the lunch dishes, I help her carefully peel off the label from the Campbell’s Soup can and place it in the envelope with the growing stack of labels that I will eventually bring to my kindergarten classroom for the school supply fundraiser.
She then takes my hand and says “Let’s go up and stretch out for a while.” I skip up the green carpeted stairs beside her, joyful to have her undivided attention.
I am not tired, but she is. As a five year old, it will take me another 25 years to finally understand and succumb to the fatigue that she now feels as a mother, wife and cheerleader of all things. For now, I play along, certain that this time I will NOT fall for her tricks and drift off to sleep.
I help her draw the curtains to darken the room and then pull back the comforter as I clamber onto the bed and crawl under the cover next to her.
My mother is so beautiful. Her long, dark brown hair is pulled into a soft, loose bun that fans out gracefully, framing her face as she lays her head back against the down pillow. I gaze upon her and run my fingers along the length of her nose as her mouth stretches into a smile and her eyelids flutter shut. She takes my little hand in hers and quietly says “let’s just close our eyes for a minute.” She always says this and I always reply “Promise you will wake me when you get up? I am not tired.” And she smiles again, eyes closed and nods in agreement – even though she never ever wakes me.
Stubbornly, I force my eyes to stay open. I am not tired. I watch her closely and listen to her breathe. Her chest rises and falls rhythmically. I play games with the pattern of her breathing, sometimes trying to breathe two breaths for every one of hers or holding my breath and counting to ten. I tickle her face. I run my fingers along the sleeve of her soft sweater. I brush aside a few of the stray hairs by her cheek and nudge closer to place a warm kiss on her ear, hoping that her eyes might open and that we can go have a tea party together with my dolls. But her eyes never open. I don’t realize that my light touches and gentle caresses are aiding her slumber and she is now far away in a deep sleep. Regenerating. My breathing slows and the final game I play is to match my breathing to hers. I feel my own chest rise and fall slowly as I watch her, trying to keep my heavy eyelids from shutting. Within moments, the slow, peaceful rhythm takes me away into my own deep sleep.
Our hands are still clasped, fingers woven together. Mother and daughter. Bound together in the safest place I have ever known outside of her womb.
Guard The Sacred. Seek Beauty. Celebrate The Moment. Celebrate The Possibility.
- EWE BEE U
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