It's Mother's Day and I'm patiently waiting to get the day started with my own dear mother. I've been fortunate that, even with the trials and tribulations of adolescents, and some differing of opinions on that thing called life, my mother and I can still enjoy being with each other. That may be an odd thing to reflect on when it comes to the person that gave you life (I include adoptive mother's in that term because the care and nurturing of a child is life giving) but at the end of the day we are two individuals that make a choice to build a relationship with each other. I've known quite a few people both personally and professionally that can't say the same. Their relationships are often built on guilt, shame, or obligation and at it's worst, severed because loving one's child or mother is based on a condition that doesn't acknowledge the unique autonomy of each individual.
So, though my mother may drive me crazy and I may drive her to tears on occasion, we can still laugh and look at who we have become together, and enjoy that process and the one yet to come. I wish all the people in the world that have been blessed to have that experience of still choosing your mother a joyous day, and for those that don't physically have her with them, a joyous day as well, for honoring the choice you were able to have.
I've included a poem I wrote for my mother last year and I hope it brings you as much joy as it brought that wacky lady I still call "Mommy".
Happy Mother's Day!!
Janet
My Mommy
Unedited and copyrighted by Janet Eckford
My Mommy
How do I describe someone that has always been mine
I’ve never had another,
And it seems strange to give voice,
Explanation, or expression to someone that has always existed
But I’ll try
My Mommy
When I was a little girl, was a power house of energy and purpose
Strong arms and soft kisses,
Whispered I love yous as I slept
“Can you read it one more time, Mommy”,
Seemed to always slip from my lips
Tight little ponytails, that tried to stay neat,
But couldn’t resist the bend of my will
Pink and purple dresses of lace and frill
And blue little corduroy pants for when I couldn’t keep still.
“Yes” and “Thank you” and “Please a little more”
Woven into my vocabulary by my watchful mother hen
Cluck, cluck, clucking her praise for her bright little chick
My Mommy
When I was a teenager was the woman that stared in awe and amazement
At the little girl who disappeared
Now there was angst
And, “Mommy, you just don’t understand.”
Friends and cars carried me to freedom
Beyond the safe little walls of home
I was a person
I had a purpose
And, “Mommy, this is not a phase!”
Was the mantra of who I thought I was
But words of wisdom that were hard to hear stayed ever present
And whispered I love yous while I slept filled my ears
Even when I pretended not to hear
My Mommy
Now I’m an adult
A woman
Ha, a word I still struggle associating with me
That woman, the power house of energy and purpose
That woman, is so small
She sees me, her creation of time, energy, strong arms and soft kisses
Words of rebuke and praise
Little girl grown up
Left to explore different shores
The mommy of my adult years is a person
With foibles and strength
Sometimes paralyzed by fear and insecurity
Another woman I must relate to
But often fail with harsh words spoken from misunderstanding
The nature of what we’ve become
Yet, some things remain the same
No longer whispered I love yous while I sleep
But calls of “I just wanted to hear your voice”
Happiness to see my face
Pride in who I am
Even if the process of being me is hard for her to comprehend
My Mommy
Will always be mine
And I will always be her "me"
