We’re on the brink of the one day a year that we reflect on how much our mothers influence our lives. If you own a TV you definitely already have this day marked in your calendar because every commercial is advertising flowers and chocolates and breakfast in bed; all the good things we buy and do to try to encapsulate our immense love for our moms.
My mom lives a full 6 hours away from me now, and I’m not a mom myself, so I live in a weird in-between sort of world where none of the typical gift-giving or breakfast-making activities seem appropriate to mark this day. In light of my dilemma, a keen desire to honor my mom this weekend, and my penchant for the dramatic, I thought a written ode would do the trick.
For my Mama, and all the wonderful, self-sacrificing, beautiful, hard-working, and nurturing moms out there - here’s my attempt at sending love via poetry.
Mama
The voice of comfort greets me from the other end
of an in and out cell phone connection.
When I ask, you answer
honestly. I can hear the pride and sadness intertwined.
Your whole life was about me
and you don’t regret a thing.
You’re the hero of the story
and sometimes the villain too.
Doctor, farmer, therapist, stylist, predecessor
of my faults and fears and wrinkle lines.
You gave me your skin
and bones,
and life
tastes like that tea you made.
Hot and cool, sweet and fresh,
bitter on my tongue.
You loved me like it would -
imperfectly, luminously, fiercely.
To all the mamas who choose to be present and persevering - we know you’re not perfect. That’s what makes your choice to love with abandon astounding day after day after day. We are better for being loved by you. We relish a day to celebrate who YOU are.
You are loved. Imperfectly, luminously, and fiercely.
