Mother

I remember being 5 years old and looking up at her. I want to be her, I thought. She was beautiful in my eyes. I wanted to someday have her body and her beauty. I believed that she was an angel on earth, for her beauty to me was so amazing. Her love and kindness gave me safety. She tucked me in, drew me pictures, stayed with me in illness, played games with me. She was more than an angel.

I don’t remember the age, but I remember there being no more games. She hates me, I thought. Did I do something wrong? Had I broken this angel? Was I bad? She wishes I was a boy, I thought. And I retreated into my own space. I couldn’t understand that adults go through things that children don’t see, couldn’t comprehend. I didn’t know, and still don’t know, what struggles she was enduring that pulled her away.

And then I remember being 14 looking straight at her. She will never understand me, I thought. In my eyes she had changed. She had become this distant being who existed only to torment me. I couldn’t understand that her beauty still existed, but it was hidden from my teenage eyes because in my teenage mind I had twisted her intent and mixed up her meaning. I was lost within my own reality and she within hers. The truth was I could not understand her.

At 19 I watched her suffer the greatest loss she could endure and survive it. How will she cope without him? I thought. Her soul mate gone I broke inside for her. But her strength and perseverance was nothing short of astounding. I saw something so different in her and, even though she still didn’t understand me, I began to understand her just a little.

Again at 20, I looked at this amazing being in my life. Thank God for her, I thought. She had survived my teenage insanity and still cared enough for me to help me in my greatest need, motherhood. My child, with colic, screamed every 2 hours. I was dead on my feet, easily upset, and exhausted. This angel floated in several times a night to care for my child so that her child could rest.

At 38 I forgave her and I forgave myself. I want to have a relationship with her, I thought. The distance between us had not changed. That was partly my fault and I knew it. She was still beautiful. For so long I thought she hated me, but really I hated myself. At 38 I finally let it all go. We started over.

Now, at 44, I look at pictures of her. For I have moved far away. She is beautiful, I think. Even now,I want to be her, I think. Her strength over the years has endured and impressed me. Her patience, though I never realized how much she had, is incredible.

at her advanced age, her beauty radiates from her like rays of the sun. She looks happy in pictures.

I will never be her, I think. Though my husband says I resemble her and have her beauty. He swears he married me because he knew I would be as beautiful as my mother. We are different and that’s okay. I have my own strength, developed through pain and loss and necessity. I have my own patience, developed through time and circumstance. She helped me become this person I am and I’m grateful for that because I like who I’ve become.

I Have Paper Towels

"We really are doing just fine. I mean years ago I would have loved to have paper towels but to us they were a luxury that we couldn't afford. Now I can just reach up and grab one when I need it."

The statement above was said by my husband shortly after a very LONG talk about our financial situation. We are having a tough month. We overspent and got ourselves into a pickle and then the truck broke down. We know that this struggle is something WE created but that makes it no less painful.

After saying what he said above he laughed and said "You know if a rich person heard me say that we're alright because we have paper towels, they'd think I was nuts."

It got me thinking. What little things are important to different people. For John it's paper towels. We never used to be able to afford this little extra and the fact that we always have them now keeps him feeling like we are doing ok.

Usually I'm more wrapped up in the whole picture. I never thought about paper towels in this way before. He's right though, we never used to have paper towels except on rare occasions. I'd buy them for major cleaning days or as a special thing. Now we always have paper towels and I never really think twice about it.

After today I'll not see them in the same way again. Now I'll look up and see that roll of wonderful white hanging proudly in my kitchen and think "ah, there they are, and we're doing just fine".

So the next time things go sideways on you, stop and think. What little thing do you still have that lets you know you are still ok? Or what little thing do you need to help you feel like things are going to be ok?

For now, "we're doing just fine because we have paper towels".

They Call Me Naive

They call me naive.

Because I work hard,

Even when the pay is small,

But I think that's integrity.

I'll Never Be

She sat staring out the window of her little one bedroom apartment, watching the happy people in the park across the street. She smiled as she watched a couple, holding hands, walking down the sidewalk, laughing. The smile dissipated and her face turned somber as a voice in her mind said “I’ll never be that happy”.

Somberly she arose to go make some tea. On her way past the television she, by force of habit, switched it on, not bothering to look at the channel. Again, she smiled thinking the background noise would drown out that whisper that was rising in her mind to torture her.

I've Found Home

Ever since I was little, anytime I watched one of those shows with little houses all sitting close together where neighbors had barbecues and talked over the fences, where neighbors really helped one another and looked out for each other, where community was really that, I’ve always dreamed of finding that place that felt like that to me.

When I grew up, I realized life wasn’t really like that and even though I often tried to make my life fit that picture it never quite worked.