I love you, Mom. Thank you! …
Throughout my life, the hand that always reached back making me feel safest was my mother. Always and forever, my mother. I share a story of one of my earliest memories in my book finding I in which my mother was my hero:
“I have an early memory when ten of us lived in a little brown house on a hill in Lake Barcroft, Virginia. Late one warm Fall afternoon, I had my Raggedy Anne baby doll in a white plastic highchair outside on the patio. Raggedy Anne, with her red string hair and blue gingham dress, sat gloriously in the highchair as I fed her. As a three-year-old, we were each other’s best friend, and she my only personal possession. We were inseparable; and the only person I talked to, besides my mother.
Unannounced, my father stormed out onto the patio in a rage. I do not remember why, how could I, at three years-old, or even if any reason existed. You see, there did not need to be a reason, really. We could simply be at the wrong place at the wrong time when he needed to unleash.
He grabbed Raggedy Anne and ripped her head off, throwing her pieces down the grassy hill and into a neighbor’s yard. I know I screamed, but I do not know if words or sounds came out of my mouth. I do remember being beaten and thrown into the basement.
Six of the older children lived in the basement and the babies slept in cribs in the upstairs dining room. I remember making myself as small as possible and hiding in the corner behind my bed. The smaller I could become, the easier I could hide. Perhaps I could be small enough to be invisible. And if invisible, I would be safe.
When my father got like this, we all hid; afraid there would be more to come. I stayed balled up in the corner until I felt my mother gently rubbing my back. I grabbed her hand and held it to my beating chest.”
Dr. Bessel van der Kolk explains “The most natural way that we humans calm down our distress is by being touched, hugged, and rocked. This helps with excessive arousal and makes us feel intact, safe, protected and in charge.
“Being able to feel safe with other people is probably the single most important aspect of mental health: safe connections are fundamental to meaningful and satisfying lives.”
My mother made me feel safe, protected, and intact.
I may or may not have shared with you that I struggle with night terrors. One night this past week, as usual, I went to bed long before my husband. Sometime into my sleep, my husband heard me frantically calling for my sister to come to me to avoid something ominous that was going to cause her harm. Once my sister was safe in my arms, I cried terrible sobs begging for my mother to come rescue us. Begging her to find us, hold us and rub our backs so we would know we were not alone.
All my life, my mother was a beacon of pure love. A haven of safety. An island of peace. The beauty of my mother was she was that for every one of the thirteen children in our family. Each soul felt seen, touched, and special. She made our boo-boo’s go away and chased the boogey-man down the stairs. Only light shone from my mother. The most luminous loving light. Even her death could not extinguish her light as it lives on in me and in my siblings.
Another story I share in finding I encapsulates the reverence of her presence even to a small child, let alone a woman of sixty-seven sitting here in my office speaking with you through words on a page.
“Every day, late in the afternoon, my mother disappeared into her room at the end of the long, red-carpeted hallway to bathe, dress, and prepare for the evening. A white rocking chair just outside her dressing room provided the perfect vantage point from which to view this daily ritual. I frequently made the long trip down the red hallway, and, if none of my siblings beat me to it, I would scamper into that chair to rock and watch her apply her makeup. As a child, I marveled at her radiant beauty, her perfect hair and attire, and her grace. To me, Jackie Kennedy, the paragon of beauty at the time, had nothing on my mother.
As I watched her from the chair, words rarely interrupted the ritual. In silence, and with her purposeful intensity, her radiance lit the entire room.
Despite working from sunrise to way beyond sunset, my mother always seemed peaceful. When she smiled at me, I felt like the only person in the room. When she gazed on me with her brilliant green eyes, I felt warm love deep into my being.
Mom’s love emanated from a deep religious devotion. Grace followed her everywhere. Because of her, I always believed in God. But exactly what that meant or looked like took me a lifetime of falling down, or through, cracks to understand. My search for God ran parallel to my search for “I.” Or, maybe, they were one in the same.
Later in life, it became apparent to me that my mother existed in a constant state of prayer. Everything she did got her fully devoted and loving attention, from doing the laundry, to sweeping the floor, to cooking, to ministering to those in need. That constant state of prayer, an ability to be fully in the present moment, enabled her to separate from the distractions that took her away from her God-centeredness.
At the time, I just wanted to be like her. My mother seemed so whole, and I felt so shattered. If finding God would make me whole, I would search until I found Him. Without realizing it, my journey to find the missing “I” had already begun.
Even as she doused the lights in her dressing room, leaving us in the pitch darkness, her brilliant radiance lit the long red carpeted hallway as we slowly walked towards the front of the house to greet the uncertain night.”
My mother saved my life. She continues to hold me up today. She is with me in my heart always. She is in my hands as I write this. She is in the eyes of my children. Her curly hair dangles freely from my granddaughter’s head as her laughter rings in my ears. She wipes down the kitchen sink with me every time it gets wet, and she is in the love notes I leave for my husband. She holds my hand when I am afraid, and she touches my cheek with a whisper wind when I need it most. And she runs to me in the night when I am that little scared girl afraid of monsters of varying sizes and shapes.
I love you to the moon and back, mom. I will love you always and forever. Thank you.
Remember your mother this Sunday. Let her love hold you. Even her falters, embrace them. They are a part of you and always will be.
Until next time friends.
