Stop what you're doing for a second.
Just listen to me for a minute.
Ignore your telephone.
Pretend your co-workers are not around.
Dismiss the Outlook meeting reminders.
Close your eyes (squint, really, so that you can read this still).
Just look at me.
Something occurred to me that I needed to do, and maybe you will want to, as well.
Imagine your childhood for one second. I don't know everyone's past, but I imagine deep down, even in the really troubled lives, you have a nice memory that involves your mother, or mother-figure. Think about what your favorite memory is of your her. Whatever image, no matter how perfect or how blurred.
For me, I love that I can make my mother cry. Not out of pain, although God knows, I have done that too, but out of happiness and a sheer total amount of so many warm emotions. When I arrive, when I leave, when I tell her I miss her, when I am feeling blue, she cries with me, for me, about me. Sometimes I think about that when I need to take a moment to figure what the point of my life is.
When I was flying back to Stockholm from San Francisco a few weeks ago, I had such a moment. One of those few moments in life where you really feel everything about where you are. I was tired, alone, dressed in comfy combat pants and a sweatshirt, and armed with only a book, Luuk, and my laptop. The memory of the horrible time in U.S., where I found out that the world moved on without me and I really, truly had become a Nomad, still fresh like a brand-mark on my stomach.
I sat in the airport, a beautiful, stunning, Howard Roark-worthy airport, and watched the setting sun over the bay. Opera was piping through the air, soft and sweet, "Nessum Dorme" wafting through my muscles and sinews and settling in a swirling pattern in my head. A glass of wine before me, sitting at a table before a wall of sheer windows, overlooking the water. We were all tinged a lovely orange and red from the reflection of the water. It was a moment of pure perfection.
I started to cry, and so I did what every adult women in the 21st Century does when she is feeling weak and vulnerable.
I called my mother.
And she made me feel that I was no longer alone in whatever struggles I was facing.
My mother sent me an email today, a long one, which contained lots of support and some questions I will be asking myself soon:
What makes life worth living?
What's missing?
How do I show love?
How will I be remembered?
Where is my fire within?
Someday, I hope to have a little girl (for I hope fate won't be so cruel as to give me sons). I will hold her in my arms and sing Sarah McLachlan's "Angel" to her. I will get angry with her, I will love her madly, and I will do everything I can to keep the world from hurting her. I will swear to never do some of the things my mother did, and then I will do them all over again.
Take a moment now, maybe, and write your mother an email. Call her. Just say hi. And if you are someone who has lost your mother one way or another, you can borrow mine for a minute.
She seems to have enough love for even her most broken of baby birds that have fallen far from the nest.
And if you don't want to do that, you can leave her a message here-in the comments or in a mail to me. It's OK. I'll see that she gets it.
Let me know how it goes.
-H.
Posted by Everydaystranger at November 6, 2003 06:22 PM | TrackBackDear Mom,
In your eyes I can do no wrong. If you only knew how wrong you are. And although I know you aren't perfect at times, the only thing I know is that you are always right.
In my eyes you can do no wrong.
Love,
Rob
My Mom is awesome. Fantastic sense of humor and totally unpredictable except for three things: if she isn't smoking right now she will be within the next half hour, she will have a book either in her hand or in her purse, no matter what you do or how badly you screw up she'll always be there for you and won't lose faith in you. My older brother tested that last one well beyond the limits of human failure and she was still there for him right to the end. What a lady. What a mom!
We'll get to have her for Christmas this year - the first time since we've had kids. They keep talking about Gramma coming to visit with nary a word about Santa. If that isn't a testimonial I don't know what is.
I think I'll go give Mom a call this morning. In a couple hours since it's like 2:30 AM in Arizona right now. She might be infinitely accepting but she's not beyond a verbal whap upside the head when it's deserved.
Posted by: Jim at November 7, 2003 10:27 AMH
It is funny that you decide to post this today. Your post coincides with my mom’s birthday.
I had already called to her to wish her a happy birthday, but after you post I called her again.
Good post
Take care
Agamemnon
I called my Mom after reading this. Mom was surprized because I'm supposed to be at work. Then, I told her why I called her and she said, "Oh! Did you remember to get your coats drycleaned?" Lol. Thats my mom.
Posted by: Melodrama at November 7, 2003 05:45 AMWe must share a mom somehow Don cause mine is upstares as well.
Its been a tough year (cant wait for 2004)for my family but my mom has and still remains a rock of inspiration (even if she is a pain in the butt sometimes ;) )
Posted by: Drew at November 7, 2003 03:08 AMI lost my mother's mother 2 weeks ago; she died while making quilts for the local teen pregnancy center she volunteered at. She died exactly the way she wanted to go: helping other people.
I will give my mother a call when I get home, and thanks for reminding me of how much I love her.
Posted by: Stuart at November 7, 2003 12:14 AMReferred by Emily. Thanks! Mom died this year, and she was one of those outstanding people. Full of love for everyone, and she never met a stranger. Her kitchen was always full of delicious aromas, and anyone was welcome. And daughters--where would I be without mine!!??!
Posted by: endosmom at November 6, 2003 09:32 PMMy mom. What can I say? I wouldn't trade her for anything! She's never been demonstrative -- not a not of hugs, etc., in my family -- but we *know* by what what she does and says that she loves us more than life itself.
Posted by: jean at November 6, 2003 08:36 PMKat-I am so, so sorry. But it must've been a beautiful tribute.
Don-cheer up, Muppet. Seriously.
Guinness-it is clear you should be a writer. You write beautifully.
Kaetchen-sent you a mail, let me know how it goes.
KC-thanks. I don't expect everyone to like me. Half the time, I don't even like me. But sometimes, I run a bit deeper than the minge. If you browse through my archives, you can see that. Keep me posted (kindly, though, since I am a broken Helen) if I warrant a thumbs-or not.
Posted by: Helen at November 6, 2003 08:36 PMokay, i know it seems i'm missing the whole point of the entry with this comment, but i'm not. i love my mom, but...
mad props on saying a building was Howard Roark-worthy. i've had that exact thought at a few buildings in my life. nice to know someone else has thoughts about him, too.
Posted by: amy t. at November 6, 2003 08:36 PMI too work with my mother. She just sent me an email. She said it was clear that I was a writer, and she would now be assigning me more work.
That is fine for me, but your story is much sweeter.
Posted by: Guinness at November 6, 2003 07:24 PMHad I been through the minge like I've been through your blog...well...just when I decide to try and dislike you, you go and pull something like this
Posted by: KC at November 6, 2003 07:24 PMGod, H. Your timing is impressive. Mom's MRI is tomorrow; we're having dinner tonight. Excuse me while I go cry in the bathroom stall for a while.
What an amazing woman your mother must be, to be strong enough to send you questions like that. Knowing that she's a woman to whom those answers *matter* has got to support you in your changing life.
Kisses.
Posted by: Kaetchen at November 6, 2003 07:17 PMI work with my mother. She is upstairs right now. If I shout, she'll hear me. But I liked your post, Helen, as it highlights to things I like...when people have good relationships (or at least, warm feelings towards) their family and also the fact that you want to have girls.
I've said it before and I'll say it again...if I have a son, I'll keep him, I just won't love him. :-P
Posted by: Don at November 6, 2003 07:04 PMi'm so looking forward to being a mom someday. i already sent my mom an email this morning by chance. no mom is perfect, but i feel pretty darn lucky to have mine.
i read sarah m's "angel" at my cousin's funeral last winter. she had named her child (who died in her womb just before it was to be born) "angel" a few months before she took her own life. the loss was too much for her to bear. the words seemed so perfect, as i'd heard her play it in her car before.
but it's also nice to think of the lyrics sung to a healthy baby. someday eh?
thanks for the reminder to thank our moms.
Posted by: kat at November 6, 2003 06:57 PM