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It’s Hard to Write About my Mom

September 11, 2011

I have written about my family before.  I have written about our love, our joy, and our resiliency.  I’ve talked about my siblings and my daddy, and even my grandma.  I can write about them all with ease and simplicity and with words that roll straight off my tongue.

But it’s different with my mom.

Writing about my mom is hard for me.  In fact, it’s really hard.  It’s not hard because she did anything wrong.  It’s not hard because I don’t love her.  Writing about my mom is hard because my connection to her is overwhelming.  Our waters run deep and long and thick and they collide together with such power and beauty that it takes my breath away.  Writing about my mom is hard because she means too much to me.  She is too much a part of me.  Sometimes love is too strong of a force to be reckoned with.   I’m always afraid I won’t get the words right.

I sit here to type with trembling fingers.  I hit the backspace twelve dozen times as I fumble through language and metaphors and punctuation.  How do I write about my mom?  My words get caught in my throat somewhere between the sobbing force of gratitude that is about to erupt and the quiet, gentle serenity that comes from this most miraculous kind of love.

My mom’s heart is my heart.

Our hearts beat together with some un-earthly harmony – a sound that was developed in some other Place by Hands that were not our own.  We were knit together, my mom and I.  My hands are her hands and my feet, her feet and all the best parts of who she is were indwelled into me.  She is the voice of confidence when I don’t feel like enough and the one person I want to talk to at the end of a day.  It’s the most miraculous kind of love.

And yet still, after all these years, I don’t always know what to say.

How do I write about the person in my life who most fully completes me?  Who is most like me?  Who understands what I am thinking before my thoughts even have a chance to complete themselves?  How do I explain that kind of connectedness?

I know my mom would thank God for giving me to her.  I know she says that prayer of thanksgiving every night.  But here’s a secret she may not know:  in the quiet of the evenings, in the slowness of the morning drive to work, in the moments when I watch the adolescents in my life struggle to feel loved – I whisper prayers of thanksgiving for her.  I thank God for giving her to me.  It is I who was most blessed.  It is me who got spoiled.  The very best of her became the very best of me.

I know how to love, and be loved.  Oh God, thank you for Mom.

I walk with confidence.  Oh God, thank you for Mom.

I understand compassion and empathy and friendship and grace.  Oh God, thank you for Mom.

I am my own woman whose roots gave her wings.  Oh God, thank you for Mom.

I found my voice through my writing.  Oh God, thank you for Mom.

I’m a friend.  I’m there for others.  Oh God, thank you for Mom.

I have courage to go after dreams.  Oh God, thank you for Mom.

I’m adaptable.  I’m a learner.  I move myself forward.  Oh God, thank you for Mom.

I love God.  I have faith.  And it’s beautiful and thriving and ever-changing.  Oh God, thank you for Mom.

I have a heart and a spirit and a love that abounds and it’s all because of her.  Wonderful, amazing her.  I have confidence and courage and curiosity and I’m not afraid to be my own woman.  And it’s all because she taught me how to do it.  She taught me how to live bravely and joyfully and with a poise she doesn’t even know she has.  She showed me how to do it all, and she’s still guiding my steps in her own gentle way.

The words are still not enough.

My heart is her heart.

We are two souls as one.

I love you, Mom.

Happy birthday.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. September 11, 2011 8:35 pm

    This is beautiful. I, too, find it difficult to find the words when speaking of my love and appreciation for my Mom…and even my Dad. I find the same difficulty in expressing the love I have for my children. Words are simply not enough for some things. But we can try. And you painted her beautifully.

  2. mom permalink
    September 11, 2011 10:29 pm

    You are my heart Lauren. OXOX for always. Mom

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