Speaking in Cursive

I have been spending a lot of quarantine time organizing old family photo’s. One thing seems to stand out to me. I was either in my mother’s arms, or in her hands. Never far from her touch or her sight. What comfort these pictures bring me now, of my dear sweet mother, and the love she showered upon me and my siblings. How BLESSED I am to have had that in my life. The gentle guidance and reassurance of a mother’s touch.

As a small child, I was painfully shy. I remember needing to be near both my parents, but especially my mom. I recall hiding behind her, grabbing on to her leg, hoping no one would speak to me. And then she would say, “This is my baby.”  She never forced me to talk to them, or come out from hiding. Her gentle nudging helped me to outgrow my shyness, and become comfortable meeting and talking with people.

I can still hear my moms heartbeat, as I sat upon her lap with my head pressed into her chest. She would be on the phone, or watching her shows, but I was happy to hear her heart and breath. I was safe. I was calm. How grateful I am to have a mom who knew the importance of stillness, of quietness. I would listen to her voice echoing through her body as I drifted off to sleep. I still can hear it, and it beckons me home like a lighthouse on the shore.

I know how very fortunate I was to have a mom who was home with us. Who read to us, and played with us. She let  me put make up on her, and do her hair. She would spend hours cooking and cleaning, and like any child would, I took it all for granted. But as a mother myself, I so appreciate everything she sacrificed for us. She wanted to be a dancer, or a nurse. In a lot of ways, she still was. We would dance around the house for hours, she had her certain moves, she still does to this day. And she spent many a sleepless night up with a sick child. When I was very young, I would get a little too excited about Christmas. So excited I would break out in hives from head to toe and be sick to my stomach. For several years, my mother sat up with me on Christmas Eve, and then on Christmas morning, would help me open my presents. Never making me feel bad for being nervous or worried. Rather, comforting and caring for me, until it no longer happened.

Mother’s Day is so odd this year, for everyone. Most of us will not be with our Mother’s or our children. My mother now is in a nursing home memory care unit for dementia. I haven’t seen her in person in month’s. It breaks my heart, and I would give anything to snuggle up next to her, listening to her unmistakable laugh, hearing her heartbeat. To just share more of my life with her. But I can honestly say, I am who I am because of her. Because of the sacrifices she made to raise her children. To carry them with love.