Mother's Day 2013

Week 19


How to describe American commercialism in three easy lessons: Valentine’s Day covers February then a lull in the retail-after-Christmas-before-tax returns-slump. Next comes Mother’s Day in May and then Father’s Day for June.

I have always felt like we should tell those who mean the most to us that we love them all the time. That we shouldn’t wait for “holidays” to tell us to tell them how we feel. Valentine's Day is a crock of junk and I have never REALLY known a father so, you are really what comes to my mind when thinking of this particular trilogy.

Here I sit, subject to the calendar… a prisoner of timelines… ever waiting for the latest test results, ever waiting for a new prognosis. I am guilted, by society, into telling you that I love you, on this the magical day, somebody in the retail world invented.

I DO love you. I always have. You are my mother. You are the woman who loved me before I was born. You are the woman who carried me for nine long months, who gave me life. You are the woman who cried for me when the world seemed darkest for me. You are the woman who has always felt my pain, and too frequently, tried to absorb it, to lessen that which I would have to endure. You are one of the greatest gifts that life has given me because I have never doubted your love for me.

Mama, I have always known you tried your very best to be the best mother you could be. I know that you have always wanted what was best for me. I have ALWAYS known you love me. And I have always known I had a friend in you. What you have termed as pushing you and others away, is truly a matter of self-preservation from birth. I never meant to offend. In fact, I have only sought to spread peace and love wherever my path has crossed. But in every moment, I have known that if I needed you, you would have my back.

I love you, Mama. I want you to know that I see everyday with you in my life as Mother's Day!

Oh My!

Week 18



You wake up one morning to realize that various body parts did not wake up with you. As you attempt to move, bits and pieces are assaulted by the tingling of blood rushing to parts that obviously had their supply cut off while you were sleeping.

Your bladder feels as if you will explode if you don’t hurry, even though it seems like you were up ten times during the night with the same sense of urgency. Rising from the bed, you hear creaks, groans, pops and cracks as your joints awaken and protest against your movements.

As you brush your teeth, you notice the bags under your eyes. Rinsing, you smile at your reflection and notice the wrinkles that appear around your eyes, beside your mouth, in your forehead. You toss the towel at the shower rod in disgust. You miss. You bend down to retrieve it and a hand goes to the small of your back as you straighten.

The days of jumping out of bed and rushing headlong against the world have passed. Suddenly life has become a series of aches and pains and age, oh my!

Who Am I? To Be Continued...

Week 10

The life I have been living the last few years has revolved around taking care of loved ones whether elderly, ill, dying or all of the above. I guess it isn’t surprising that I would take time to reflect on who I am… where I came from… where I am going. The “where I come from” is, and always has been, a multi-dimensional answer in my mind. I guess they all are to be honest.


Where Do I Come From?

I come from my family. I am a product of the way I was raised and of the family who raised me… my family.

I come from my birth. It was cold and shadowed. For my mother it was a bit lonely. Her husband had dropped her off at the hospital and gone home to bed. She was at the opposite edge of the country from her family. Then I made my entrance. In that moment there must have been a definite moment of, “you and me against the world”. A bond was formed unlike any other. The bond of mother and daughter forged in that moment.

I come from my childhood. It was often a wonderful childhood. It was often a tragically devastating childhood. Good, bad, or indifferent, my childhood experiences helped shape me and mold me. They taught me that there are two choices you can make in the face of overwhelming adversity. You can lie down and let the bad things destroy you or you can jump up and fight back by refusing to let them have power over you. I frequently say, “I am NOT sorry for the things that have happened in my life because they helped me become who I am. I like who I am.”

I come from my marriage. I have been married since I turned 18. The lessons I have learned as a result would fill volumes. Suffice it to say it has been a major part of my entire adult life and has changed and shaped me as I have grown over the years.

I come from a coastal town. A place where most folks knew your business before you did. A place you couldn’t get away with much cause somebody knew who you belonged to and your grandmother or mother knew the whole story before you could make it home. A place where you rode your bike all over town, stayed out til the streetlights came on every night, and kids felt truly safe.

I come from growing up in the church. It was as much a part of my life as breathing. Sunday school, church, home for a BIG lunch, youth group, choir, night church, it was what Sunday was all about. I miss those days more than I could ever have imagined.



Who Am I?

The obvious things come to mind like familial connections. I am daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, in-law, adopted mom, etc.

I am a nurturer. I am inclined to mother the people I love. I worry about them and feel an urge to take care of them.

I have always danced to the beat of a different drummer. I will ALWAYS dance to the beat of a different drummer.

Wild hair styles, the clothes I wear, piercings and tattoos do not in any way define who I am! But, they are an expression of who I am.

I am headstrong and have a bad habit of jumping into things feet first only to find myself, as my Mama says up to my ass in alligators.

I have grown independent in my middle age. I’m often sorry it took me so long to have faith in myself.

I have good business sense. I loved owning my own business and making my own rules. Corporate America and I seldom agree on anything but the bottom line.

I am fiercely loyal. I am trustworthy, hard-working, and dependable. I am passionate, playful, and temperamental.

I am shy around people I don't know. People often mistake my shyness for aloofness. They are wrong.

I wear my heart on my sleeve. My heart breaks, far more often for others than it ever has, for myself.

The world sees me as tough as nails. I see me as a big ole blob of marshmallow (which, just for the record, I can’t stand). Isn’t it funny how our view of ourselves rarely matches the view of others?

I talk a lot. When I am anxious or nervous, I chatter incessantly. If I am anxious or tired my southern drawl is more pronounced than any other time, I think.

I am a defender of the oppressed, infirm, and down-trodden, no matter what the circumstances are. The young, the weak, the elderly, I champion them all at all times!

I only know how to love unconditionally. It frequently causes me great pain. It often causes me great joy.

There isn’t anything (inside the law) I wouldn’t do for someone I love.

I am inclined to make friends I will keep forever and shy away from “fake” friends. The real friends I have are one of my greatest treasures.

I am going to do something rare for me and say that while I give this question and the next, further thought, this post is going
TO BE CONTINUED…