May is wedding month for many of our friends and family and it is also the month to honour Mothers. And being a Mother is a forever responsibility and gift. Once a Mother, always a Mother. Before the month of May is over, I wanted to let you read this poem I stumbled upon, by Ellen Bass. Gottfried finds it way too dramatic but I suspect that any Mother (maybe some fathers too) who has seen a child happily married can identify.
The poem brought back a flood of memories of our daughter’s beautiful May wedding five years ago on Gabriola Island. A wedding filled with music, joy, love, laughter, family and friends. And the tears shed were those of happiness and gratitude for this amazing day and all of the wonderful people who were celebrating with us. And central to it all was the good fortune that Meghan and Graeme had found each other – the gift of kindred spirits.(I always forget when to use or not use apostrophes, so I beg forgiveness from the grammer police)
When I read this poem I realized that yes, I too, like the poet, had been so grateful on that special day that my daughter was alive, strong, healthy and gloriously happy. That she was here and it was her wedding day. It is not so, for everyone, and although I knew it then, it is with me everyday now. This precious, precious gift of life, with all of its tribulations, so easily taken for granted.
So allow me to extend a belated anniversary greeting to my daughter and her husband and a prayer of thanks to the universe for all of these precious moments, days and years we share together. May we all live with awareness, how ever many days we have. With love, Trudy
After Our Daughter's Wedding by Ellen Bass
While the remnants of cake
and half-empty champagne glasses
lay on the lawn like sunbathers lingering
in the slanting light, we left the house guests
and drove to Antonelli's pond.
On a log by the bank I sat in my flowered dress and cried.
A lone fisherman drifted by, casting his ribbon of light.
"Do you feel like you've given her away?" you asked.
But no, it was that she made it
to here, that she didn't
drown in a well or die
of pneumonia or take the pills.
She wasn't crushed
under the mammoth wheels of a semi
on highway 17, wasn't found
lying in the alley
that night after rehearsal
when I got the time wrong.
It's animal. The egg
not eaten by a weasel. Turtles
crossing the beach, exposed
in the moonlight. And we
have so few to start with.
And that long gestation—
like carrying your soul out in front of you.
All those years of feeding
and watching. The vulnerable hollow
at the back of the neck. Never knowing
what could pick them off—a seagull
swooping down for a clam.
Our most basic imperative:
for them to survive.
And there's never been a moment
we could count on it.
So lovely, Trudy! Thanks. I hope I have a chance to experience that joy some day.
Strangely, I put a poem by Ellen Bass on my blog a couple of days ago, too. A reflection on grief, which means a lot to me.
Blessings to you to each day!
Love,
Carol
Posted by: Carol Ingells | May 30, 2009 at 10:29 PM