Mother's Day

Oh Mother's Day...you bittersweet holiday.

This year it's been 20 years since my mother died. 20 years. It's so hard to believe, because in many ways she is still here with us. In thoughts and memories and in the stories I tell my kids so that they can know her too.

When she first died, there was this heavy sense of loss. Of collapsing grief. Of where do I fit into the world as a daughter without a mother? Life had a different perspective. I remember driving up to my house and knowing that it wasn't home anymore. Things were broken.

As time has moved on, as it  does, my perspective has changed. My initial grief was so much part of me. I wore that grief, like I wore her old nightgown to bed. Searching for comfort...but time helped me release it. There is still grief, but this is for her. For what she lost. For the grandchildren she'll never know. For the relationship we never got to have as adults. Because, damn, I'd love to have a glass of wine with her on the back porch. This new grief I carry in my pocket. Small. Tender. Almost a treasure that a child hands to you to hold.

My babies have given me many treasures over the years. Laughter. Strength. Tears. The knowledge of how my mother felt when she looked at us. They are always moving forward, so I do as well. Holding her story as mine unfolds.

Nothing is a given...except maybe a mother's love.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mamas out there. And to all the aunts and grandmothers and mothers in law stepping in when they are needed. To the daddies doing their best to fill a hole. To the teachers who are a safe place for many a child. Happy Mother's Day to all who love and give, expecting nothing in return. This day is for all of you. xo

Bluebird

The kids didn't see me as I walked across the field to the playground where they gather after school. I could see Henry, dump his backpack on the ground and start to run off. Then he stopped and shouted at a table of classmates, "Hey guys! Look! Look! A bluebird! Look at that color! Hey guys! Guys!" The other kids didn't look or even respond.

As I got closer and Henry could see me, I said, "I saw that bluebird. It must have nest nearby (We'd seen 2 the day before). How cool!"

He ran off and I sat down to watch the kids play.

Henry gathered up the latest book he was reading and sat down at the table with the other kids. They were just being kids. Middle schoolers. Laughing and pushing and teasing. Then they turned their attention to him...mocked him. Teased him. Ran him off.

I saw him. He was just a kid who wanted to read and sit with some friends. They saw something different. Someone different. And that to middle schoolers is a weakness.

I found Henry where he'd run off to and was reading. I told him that we should go home.

I know that kids will be kids. I know that middle school is hard. Especially when you aren't like everyone else. I didn't realize that it would be just as hard to watch this as it was to live it.

We went home and talked and I let Henry know that, like he saw that bluebird, that flash of color so bright, I see him. I see his brightness and his wings.

It's too bad that those other kids don't. If only they'd look up for a minute, they'd see something special... before it flies away.