I absolutely love being a mother

I absolutely love being a mother. It is one of the most rewarding roles I have ever taken on in my life as well as one of the most challenging. Wanting to give my children as much rope as I can so they can fly while at the same time keeping a hold of the rope so they know they are loved no matter what. Trying to find that delicate balance of holding on while letting go. Of knowing my children are here to live their lives. Not mine.

I look into their eyes sometimes and am mesmerized by what I see, by what I feel. I look at their bodies and am surprised by how much they are growing and maturing, becoming adults very quickly. I listen to their words and am proud of their depth and breadth of life.

I was reminded of this the other night when my family went out for dinner to celebrate my husband’s birthday. Sometimes I found myself having an out of body experience – looking on my family with pride from a position outside of us.

To watch and listen to my son and daughter – their quick wit, mature sense of humor and ability to deliver one liners without changing their expressions is so interesting to watch. And then seeing them sometimes reverting back to that place of need – that place between child and adult is so fascinating. So exhilarating to know they have their whole lives still ahead of them if that is what the Divine has in store for them.

Their recollection of events and information they have picked up along the way and being able to relay their understanding and comprehension of it with such conviction and passion made my heart sing. Listening to them having their own opinions about life and what they have learned is heartwarming because I know they are becoming their own people able to stand on their own two feet. Individuals sprung from the same DNA but using it according to their own will.

I loved listening to them, not as their mother, but as an individual sometimes just so I could hear them from an outsider’s perspective and be able to not judge so I could let them go. Let them explore who they are and what they want without my influence. Guiding them but not directing them. As Khalil Gibran says we are the vessels through which they come.

I love watching my children interacting with each other. The love and respect they have for each other is a beautiful thing to witness because they have a bond that I had always hoped for when we decided to have more than one child. Allaying my fears that one child would feel more loved than the other. Watching them together lets me know they both know they are loved in their own special way. And in turn they are able to love each other so deeply and openly.

To be honest I was afraid to have another child after our son because I feared I would not be able to love another in the way I fell in love with him when he was born. But love has a funny way of splitting itself while remaining whole at the same time when it comes to motherhood and children. As it did and does for me right now.

The love I have for my children is unlike any love I have ever known. It is an instinctual love full of pride and reverence. It is a love that comes from my core and expands with each child. It is pure and absolutely unadulterated.

I never wanted to be a mother because I was afraid I would leave my children before they were ready as my mother did with me when I suddenly became a motherless daughter at the age of 13. But what I realize more than anything now that I am a mother is my mother leaving me so abruptly and unexpectedly, though heartbreaking at the time and still to some extent now, was preparing me to become the caring and compassionate mother I am today for my children.

Her death taught me to never take anything for granted. To be present for my children. To love them unconditionally and to let them know all the time how much I love them and how much they mean to me so if I have to leave them suddenly and move on to the next world, they will know they were loved and will continue to carry my love with them no matter where they go.

To teach them that a life filled with love is much greater than a life without love.  To show them to live as fully as they can and as compassionately as they can because tomorrow is promised to no one. Lessons I would never have learned had I not become a mother. That’s why I love being a mother because by becoming a mother I know so much more about love, compassion, faith, forgiveness, trust and letting go while holding on without strangling.

In gratitude to my children for choosing me as their mother and to my husband for choosing me as his partner allowing us to be the growing and loving family we are today. Namaste

An Indescribable Pain gives me wings

May 18, 1976, I am standing on the hill hanging out with my friends. I see my da’s car snaking slowly down the hill. A chill runs through me. No matter how hard I try I can’t pull my eyes away from the car. My friends are shouting and playing around behind me. Having a good time. I feel like they are in a different dimension to me. Though I can hear them, I feel like they are far away. Muted sounds. Something deep within my core is chilled. It is only when the car moves out of my sight that I snap out of the trance. I shake my body. Hug myself. Letting the coldness seep out. I turn and go running back to my friends. Shaking the feelings of dread. Pushing them to the back of my mind.

A few hours later just before dusk, my brother comes looking for me. I know instantly when I see his face that something is wrong. Once again that feeling creeps back in.

“You need to come home,” he says.

“No, I’m having fun,” I answer.

“You need to come home now,” he says again, not smiling. Demanding.

I don’t want to go. I want to stay where I am. It feels safer here. But I go. He walks in front of me. Not speaking. Not looking at me. He disappears in the house before me. Leaves the door ajar behind him. I hear voices. Strange voices. My heart races. I walk through the kitchen door slowly. I feel like I am going to suffocate. The air is so thick. There are people here. People that aren’t usually here. And then I hear my sister say to someone on the phone, “She’s gone.”

I look at her. I look round the kitchen. And I know because I can’t breathe. I know because deep in my core something has broken. Died. I know and I scream, “Who’s gone? Who’s gone?” Over and over again. Like a broken record. Trying to drown out the news.

They stare at me. They don’t know what to say. A tear rolls down my sister’s face. I start to shake. I can’t breathe. I look from face to face. Then my little brother runs into the room. His little face broken. “Mama’s dead!” he cries. “Mama’s dead.” Like a broken record. Like a startled child.

And then I hear a piercing scream. And then I feel my body retch. And then I feel arms around me. Guiding me. Trying to protect me. And then I realise the scream is mine. The pain is mine. And I can’t stop it. They can’t stop it. No one can.

My worst nightmare has come true. My best friend. The love of my life. My mama is gone. Dead. Just like that. No goodbye. Nothing. Just disappeared. Gone. I feel like I have broken into a trillion, bazillion tiny little fragile pieces and I scream some more.

May 18, 2012 and I still feel the pain I felt when I heard the news. When my life changed unexpectedly. Instantly. And without warning. Some 36years later I still feel like that 13 year old girl when I first wake up. It happens every May 18. Some years worse than others. Some years better than others. But now I understand that pain. I know that pain has given me the wings to be who I am. That pain allowed me to grow in ways I would never have dreamed possible before. That pain taught me forgiveness, compassion, empathy and love. And that pain comes every year to remind me.

May 18 is always a sad day for me but also a day for me to recollect from whence I have come. To be grateful for the time I had with my mother. To be grateful for all her life and death has taught me. And continues to teach me.

May 18 a day of reverence for me. Rest in peace mama. I will always love you. And thank you for teaching me “I wasn’t built to break."