If you are still lucky enough to talk to, hug, or argue with your mom, I say this, as always, with love, do it while you can. If you are not, it’s a great weekend to reflect on your own mom and let her shine.
dithyramb
dĭth′ĭ-răm″, -rămb″
noun
A frenzied, impassioned choric hymn and dance of ancient Greece in honor of Dionysus.
An irregular poetic expression suggestive of the ancient Greek dithyramb.
A wildly enthusiastic speech or piece of writing.
She is available. You never wait in line. You are always first, without fail. It doesn’t matter who you are. Her door is open. Her home is your home. Even if you knock on her door and you are young and selling encyclopedias, from England, and just happen to be looking for a place to live. She will house you without a sigh. Or a background check. Or a deposit. Or a phone call to someone else for advice.
She listens. She shakes her head when she cannot believe your words. She never judges.
She is humble. Like a gem not wanting to be shined, she sits in her custom setting that no one could refabricate, no soldering, a perfect setting for a gem.
Not that she’s without flaw or blemish. She is human, after all, but her scratches and dents all came with a price of duty, hard work, sweat and many tears. Her storms are hidden under a blanket of truth. Her storms are her own, she does not typically share, and in the midst of her tornados she will produce desserts so sweet your mouth will salivate as your memory kicks in.
She is beautiful and pure joy. Her face will glow over the smallest or largest of treasures. That laugh; that smile.
She is a lifeboat. She will kiss away your hurts, and not only tell us everything will be ok, but insist as the crow flies that your pain or your brokenness is just a passing event. She will hold you as you cry. Smiling she holds the wind back and protects you from the storm all while taking in water, suffering in silence, and patching her sides. The osmosis of love cannot be contained.
She is a best friend. You cannot put anything past her. You are as real as you can be and she opens the door. She tells you what you don’t want to hear. You hear what you think you hear, but it’s only a speck of dust. Only until later do you realize her words, her wisdom and her desire.
She has the hair. If the Norwegian forest cat and a sheep had a girl. It’s soft, thick and beautiful.
She is complex. She will eat anything except cooked spinach. Headcheese, lutefisk, or menudo is ok, but not cooked spinach. She likes her wine sweet and her alcohol spicy. She likes black and red licorice. She liked the color lavender, on clothing, walls, pins, gloves, bags, bedspreads or towels all before the age of 70. She likes all tchotchkes of the swan or hummingbird variety, yet will snap the head of a chicken for dinner in a blink. She will volksmarch, she will give you a history lesson on ammunition, and she will become a Warrior fan even when she never really cared for basketball.
She is adventurous. Up for anything and most everything even if her aging body may say no. She will skip the light fandango, turn cartwheels ‘cross the floor, when feeling kinda seasick, she may ask for more…she is all about having fun and hates to see it end, “...but the fat lady hasn’t sang.”
She is tolerant and bemusing. She will defend her make-believe story of binding my feet. She will caretake all my pets from gerbils to bunnies to multiple cats and dogs. She will be mad when you bring home 9 kittens, because they were really my cats kittens, yet she will assist you hourly feeding kittens with baby bottles, determined and frustrated and still full of love because the kittens mom was no longer with us. She will babysit a piano even though she does not play.
She will love all children as her own. If given the opportunity, she will. Her blood runs through everyone.
I want to be her. I want to have the glass never empty, the galaxy never too far away or the lavender never too potent. The legacy of simplicity, determination against all odds, modesty and faith. She will love/hate this post.
She is never bigger than she is small or smaller than she is big.
She is my momma.
And a note to all the mothers out there:
I’m sending a huge hug of love, empathy and gratitude for taking on the toughest aspects of life, and trying to make sense of it all, while molding little humans to the best of your ability at that time, and while you personally learn and grow - and live. And to all for whom Mother’s Day is also about unresolved conflict, sorrow, abyss, anger, grief and loss, especially those who lost a mom or never met their mom, I’m sending a big hug, too,… I see you. And also… to the moms who chose to live in constant wonder of “what if….”, for me personally my biological mom, who gave unselfishly - my love.
And an awesome moma she is . And her daughter is pretty cool too
I have no words. I just want to doodle hearts all over this page.