Exploration

My Mother

When I think of my mother, I like to remember her quiet, gentle strength. There were some very difficult times, but she was equal to them. She was never one to cause a stir; she just quietly did what needed to be done. I remember she would go about her work humming to herself. I sometimes catch myself humming when I need to buoy myself up -- almost as if I were invoking my mother's mantra.

When I think of my mother, it hurts to remember that day she was brought home after major surgery. I returned from grade school and rushed in to see her. Coming home after school was always a treat; my mother was a world-class cook and baker and wonderful things would be prepared or in progress in the kitchen. But this day she was in bed and barely stirred when I spoke to her. She seemed very weak and tired and somehow far away.

When I look back with older, wiser eyes, I see that my mother's illness was my first inkling that her strength and power had its limits, and she would not always be there as a bulwark against the world. I felt more vulnerable -- more on my own. Still my mother's image remains very powerful for me. More than once in recent years when I have needed or received more than ordinary help or good fortune, the thought comes to me that my long-dead "sainted" mother will intercede or has interceded for me. I find this thought comforting but amusing since it is hardly in accord with my lack of belief in the supernatural. Perhaps the memory of her strength in adversity helps me summon my own.

Continue >>