My first thought this morning was, “Today will be what the day brings.”
Mother’s Day - awkward, loathing, disdain, and a bunch of other nonsensical narrative comes to mind whenever the day arrives. As far as mothers go, I haven’t seen mine since I walked out the door at sixteen and never looked back. Oh, there were the occasional calls on my birthday to check and see if this was the year I would be saved, but even those petered off as the years went by. No regrets though, I was very much in the act of saving myself all these long years, not exactly what she had in mind; still there is a kind of theatrical karma to that statement isn’t there? I wish the deterrent to a mother/daughter relationship stemmed from nothing more than religious prevarication. Alas, no, safe to say everyone else’s normal will never be my normal; a comfortable acceptable reality, to be honest.
“I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one, who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I'm beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn't pleasant, it's not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.” | Hermann Hesse, Demian
Not surprisingly the day found me in the car alternating between Johnny Cash and Jaco Pastorius turned up way high (got to have that bass thrum for my deaf ears to hear), back country mountain roads and dandelion field euphoria. I found myself standing in front of a grave with Rock Rose (Red Dragon) flowers for the only mother I had ever known, brushing lichen off her gravestone. Grace, respect, compassion… all the things my natural mother lacked; this woman bestowed on me for three years. I miss her. She embodied motherhood. This day belongs to women like her.
“Today will be what the day brings.”
Only I hold the key to the gateway to my heart. There are those kindred souls who deserve entrance, to be remembered for the lessons they bestow, the love, and empathy they held in high regard. We each of us choose who is deserving of our heart. There is a woman with a Rock Rose in front of her grave, I call her mother. ~ Sage
*This is dedicated to the three natural children Mom had. I will forever be fortunate she considered me one of her own.