Because You Always Need Your Mama

Samantha's hand is surprisingly smaller than I anticipated it would be.  How could I not know her hand was so small?  I knew it was delicate.  I was teasing her about her bony elbows the other day, but how did I not know her hand was so small???  I scooped up Camble's hand in my free hand to compare.  I think his might actually be a little bigger than Sam's, but she held on with such purpose.  I heard her soft, sweet voice whispering to my shattered heart. "It's okay Mama."

We build our families and, simultaneously, as Mother's, construct our fortresses.  It doesn't happen overnight.  It's the evolution of stretching the skirt to keep everything out to the undoing of the apron strings because everybody wants out.  The birthing and rebirthing.  The holding so tightly to the letting go, and all of the growing pains in between.  The fortress crumbles, because it needs to.  We see the potential, assess the risk, and recognize it isn't ours to own anymore.  We give over that which was never ours, that which we held and kept with rugged fury and tended with gentleness in kind.

My neighbor called me from her trip to Utah yesterday to wish me a wonderful and happy Mother's Day.  It was so sweet.  So sweet, and . . . . unexpected.  She's always so sweet.   I should be as sweet as her.  She remembered me and I hadn't remembered her.  "What?  What was that?  The cats???  Why would I . . . . "  Oh, Dear God!!!!!  I was supposed to be watching the cats?!!!  Feeding the fish!!??  Since when . . . . over a week ago!!!   They're probably dead!!  I forgot to bring them into the fortress!!

My family watched me absorb the information and they all took a step back while I bought my ticket and rode my ride.   They are constant spectators to this emotional roller coaster.  Instead of screaming in silence and walking to the garden, I walked myself through the process aloud.  I shut down the attempts to fix and criticize and rationalize.  I shunned the excuses.  I explained myself for me.  I swore.  I almost threw up.  We were in public and silently they all held a new appreciation for the composure I ask of myself.  Then, they lost security in that holding me down.  It could get wild.  Maybe letting out some line would mean I'd tire myself out quicker.  They decided to let me be my gypsy self. Finally, my pace matched my tone, when I found my Mother.   That voice.   It was the rain they hadn't expected on the clear sunny day but accepted would happen and then pass, bringing what was needed.  The sun was shining again.  Camble was on his third taco.

"Mistakes happen.  These things happen sweetheart."  That voice.  The one that reminds you to bury the harsh in a deep dark hole because it has no place in the getting on and along.  The one you wish and wish and wish that you're children will hear and tell themselves when they need it the very most.  That ancient voice.  The kindness.  The one that says it will all be okay.  Maybe not right now.  Maybe not today.  But have faith.  Do the hard things.  You are good at this. You'll rise above.  You will.  The one that reminds you we all get a little lost but we haven't lost it all.

I apologized and put my head down on the table. Morgan's arms came around mine and I envisioned from above we must closely resemble the yin and the yang to manage this comfortably.  I never intended to mean so much to anyone.   I didn't know growing was the surprised look you have when you suddenly realize their pants are too short or the seams are all coming unraveled.   Nobody tells you these things.   I never thought it would take such a tight grip.  Then, you hear Mother.  You become your own mother.  You look down and feel the soft, small hand in yours and you know to let go.

You always need your Mama.