Mother’s Day in the Garden

  

I awake to the chirp of one single chickadee, make my way down the stairs to the kitchen and make my morning tea. I venture into the back garden. The rain has left it wet from the day before. I survey the garden and plan in my mind this years garden. I hear the kettle as it has boiled. Back in the kitchen to prepare my tea and my thoughts find my heart. Its aches this morning. Alone on mothers day. My daughter is off helping a friend in Guelph, such a wonderful and helpful woman she is grown into, beautiful and thoughtful. I cannot begrudge her, her thoughtfulness. She is wonderful and I am beaming with pride as I think of her.

Out in the coolness of the garden, the air is crisp, and all is quiet. My thoughts turn now to my mom, and my heart aches. She has been gone now four years. Pain is replaced by love, and my guilt is washed away. Where does this pain come from? I scan the recesses of my heart. I feel an ache of pain that resides there. Pain, for a memory of someone I never knew. A pain for someone I will never get to know. Pain for someone I will never get to know. All that holds in my memory is the struggle. The struggle of my life to gain the respect and love of someone I will never know.

Someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s wife, someone’s mother… and someone‘s grandmother. Was she mine? All the things that I wanted a mother to be, I did not get. Through no fault of her own. She was a woman lost within the torment of her past, forbidden to penetrate her for fear that she may be judged. And I loved her; although I didn’t know this at the time. I was unable to love her. Unable to let her in.

The woman that could not love me, showed the utmost adoration for her granddaughters. With them she allowed the little girl to come out to play. She was free. But the little girl within showed so much pain. What cost was it for her to be free, I wonder? What was so horrible in her life that compelled her to loose herself within her own self? She just wanted to be loved. She ached for acceptance and approval, too. So much so that she couldn’t see. She couldn’t see all that she touched, all the lives that she spent only moments or years in, adored her.

I walk over to the edge of the garden and bend down to touch the petal of the red tulip that fought its way through the earth, the only survivor from the squirrels. It feels soft to the touch, just like she did when she touched someone’s life. Why couldn’t she touch mine?

The rain has begun to trickle down, I am unfazed at this as the pain in my heart thickens. A white light appears before me. “dear little light, it naught trouble you so, for all that you have desired so shall be. You have great love within and fulfillment of all paths in your path complete. Heal and move toward that which lies before you. Her life was all that it was, what was her experience shall not be yours. Your life with her has served its significance and love prevailed. Love as she knew it, she had different way to walk her life. She touched love in a way that you may not understand by your earthly means. She was who she was. She lived how she chose. And you may experience that which means may differ from yourself, for though she bore you, you were not of her, but to be with her as an end to the means of her life. That which you shared in a few hours of the end, shall remain an eternity within her soul… and now your life must move on.”

I hear a ringing which removes me from this light source. A soft touch on my cheek, like a kiss from the heavens. The rain has stopped, the sun shines though. I turn my face upwards towards the sun, feeling its rays warming me, and I reflect on my own motherhood. It is clear to me that without a doubt I have no fear. A touch of a hand upon my face, the light breeze kisses me and I know, in my heart, that all is ok. I am ok. And life is just beautiful. I catch my breath, stand, and set out to begin my day! I welcome the light.

 

 

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