motherhood
There is a very powerful blogsite out there about losing your mother. It’s called The Motherless. What rose up in me when I first stumbled across it was a combination of sadness and fear. Sadness, for my pooooor ol’ self-pitying self, but more potently, more sharply – fear. That I might not be enough for my own most beloved children. That someday they might themselves feel my absence, might feel themselves motherless. Might feel, as I do, that in the bitter end, there are no mothers in the world. That what you do, what you have to do, is be your own mother, because the dream of Mother we all have is too much for any one woman to fill, to endure.
For years I have circled around this. I have had need a mother, a lap to cry in, a rock to cling to. I have had need the pillow of that love to sleep in. I have longed so desperately to be loved no matter what. My dear, tired, struggling mother is not an unconditional kind of person. So again and again attempts to wring this from her went awry. In the end, I concluded that there is no mother, no Mother, that what I need, what I am seeking to get from this illusion, I need to hand myself.
Then I became a mother myself and suddenly I could feel, I can still feel the pulling, the desire for me to hold all their fears in my hands and make them flowers, the terror when I frown, the relief when I smile, the terrible, overwhelming power I have to make it rain or shine, their fingers clutching at my heart, begging for another hug, another kiss, not to leave, not to be gone, ever, to hold them and to keep all that might harm them at bay. And I am just a person, with my own moments of weakness and moments of grace. I cannot always make a monster into daisies. I sometimes snap at nothing, cry over spilt milk, pour a drink before five, wish desperately to sit on the toilet alone, to howl “go away go away go away.”
Yet I try. I will be mother still and always, although I know I must fail, that my failure is in fact a gift to them because it allows them to stand independent. That the imperfect me allows them to be imperfect them. Still, oh I want them to know in whatever part of them is deeper than their hearts that the pillow of my love is always soft and fresh and smells like summer.
They know. Trust me. They know.
Don’t you think that becoming a mother is the most life changing, attitude adjusting thing that ever happens to us?
Great post. Speaking straight to my heart there.
What an incredibly fantastic post.
Whoa – I don’t even know where to start with this one! First of all, thank you for posting the link. My mom died suddenly in August, and though we had a loving relationship and she was at peace with dying, it still sucks so bad it’s not funny.
I’m still sorting through a million emotions about it – about me, the rest of my newly-reorganized family, my son.
But if I’m okay about it at all (and I am for the most part), it’s because my mom always urged us to be independent and live our own lives. She prepared us for this moment by loving life, so that we could appreciate every aspect of it, even the end of it.
Thank you.
Beautiful post. You are not alone in this quandary, as I imagine you know. But you articulated it so wonderfully. Thank you!
Thank you for posting about the site….and they do know…trust me. I’m Jane on the site.
You really captured it so well. That poignant and beautiful need of you that your children have and battling the desire to run the hell way some days when it overwhelms. Love it!
Another mother who has had to mother herself. This was a beautiful post, and captures the pain and want and fear so poignantly.
I just hope to do better for my daughter. I must. There is no alternative. But I have my down days and bad moments (lots of them lately). Still, I will do better. I know it in my heart. Already I see a strength and confidence in my daughter that I have never known. She knows who she is, and she knows she’s okay. Now I just have to nurture and protect that.