I can hardly believe that an entire year has gone by since
last Mother’s Day, but the calendar doesn’t lie. It is Mother’s Day once again
and I am one of the lucky ones who still have my Mother alive and kicking. (not
very poetic but true)
Last evening when I was reflecting on life and mothering with
my friend Meredith, I told her a story of having a birthday lunch with my
Mother, a few years ago, when she turned 85. I asked Mother what she had
learned about life after all these years. She said, and I quote, “Well, it has been so much better than I had
ever imagined it would be.”
Seldom disappointed is the modus operandi of my Mother. And
this doesn’t imply “anything will do.” It is something more subtle and wise that
she exudes about the human condition. For myself I have been reading books and
studying texts from the sages while my Mother just goes about living fully in
the moment, doing what she can to spread beauty, generosity and kindness
wherever she finds herself.
The truth is my Mother’s life has been no picnic. Has
anybody’s? Everyone’s life has its share
of hardship, sorrow, disappointment and loss, some more than others. But I
think what people spot in my Mother is the joy she conveys under all circumstances. Meredith concluded our
conversation by saying, “your Mother has got the gratitude thing going, and
that makes all the difference.”
I found this lovely poem today that seemed exactly what I
wanted to portray about my Mother. The only discrepancy is that her snowy hair
is not in braids, nor does she own a silver hair clip.
I
Confess
I stalked her
in the grocery store: her crown
of snowy braids held in place by a great
silver clip,
her erect bearing, radiating tenderness,
watching
the way she placed yogurt and avocados in
her basket,
beaming peace like the North Star.
I wanted to ask, “What aisle did you find
your
serenity in, do you know
how to be married for fifty years or how to
live alone,
excuse me for interrupting, but you seem to
possess
some knowledge that makes the earth turn
and burn on its axis—“
But we don’t request such things from strangers
nowadays. So I said, “I love your
hair.”
By Alison Luterman
“What aisle did you
find your serenity in?” That is my Mother.
She goes about the daily work of living with appreciation, curiosity and
yes, Meredith is right, gratitude. How lucky for me to have got a Mother like that.
But she does have her odd quirks. Take her financial advisor,
as an example. Every time she wants to do something special with her secret envelope
or wants to take my sister and I on
a trip- a cruise to Alaska for my 60th and a week this June in
Newfoundland for my sister's 60th the invitation or the cheque
arrives from her “financial advisor” whose name just happens to be Mariah. (for the record, my Mother’s secret wish was that she had been named Mariah)
Mother
includes a note saying something like “You know Mariah is my financial
advisor. She is insisting on this trip or this cheque. (or whatever else it
might be) You know how she is. There is no point in my arguing with her, so
please do me the favour of accepting this and getting Mariah off my back.” And then of course I laugh and I cry and I
shake my head and I think, dear Lord, make me more like my Mother.
So, on this day that honours Mother’s I can only express my undying
love and gratitude to my dear sweet Mother. And continuing in the lineage, my love and
gratitude to Meghan and Nancy, the Mother’s of my three grandchildren. Being a Mother and a Grandmother
has been the most precious gift of life, and without pause, I want to celebrate all the other amazing Mother's that I know and love (especially Sophie's Grandmother Barrie) and lastly but not least, Mother’s everywhere. With love, Trudy
One addition: I also want to send a special wish to the wonderful women I know and love who are Mother's of the heart. I believe that you know who you are.
Second addition: I won't be with my Mother for Mother's Day but my sister Gabriole and my Mother's adopted daughter-of-the heart Sheila and Jim will be. I will be there in spirit.
PS Thanks to Carol Ingells for introducing me to the poet Alison
Luterman
Ok, Trudy...enough.
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