You can never fully appreciate a Mother’s love until you become one yourself.
My mother worries, as all parents do. Growing up I was a challenge for my mother. From the time I was very small my thoughts were loud and my feelings fierce. Wish I could take back some of those nights as a teenager where she laid awake in bed hoping I was safe out in the world. Oh, how I must have stretched her heart in ways I am only now understanding.
That’s the kind of woman I want to be. Protective. Aware. Connected.
My mother is not perfect, and has never claimed to be. Countless hours we have spent with each other in front of the fireplace while she wears her regrets proudly and her accomplishments so fondly. I am the lucky one, given these moments to listen to my mothers story and have a window into her heart. I have studied her face, shinning next to the fire light with Paul Simon singing in the background and the image is imprinted in my mind forever. She reflects back on it all, and I can read on her face how proud and happy she is with her life.
That’s the kind of woman I want to be. Proud. Honest. Raw.
My mother is not fancy, and nor does she care to be. More beautiful than she knows, but never feels the need to compensate with pretty clothes or flashy jewelery. Things have never fulfilled my mother but rather sounds, smells, and people. If you can’t love it unless you physically feel it in your bones, she wouldn’t waste her time on it.
That’s the kind of woman I want to be. Real. Grounded. Stripped.
My mother is not laid back, she is always on the move. Without even realizing it I have become the same way. Loving the sense of accomplishment and doting on the things we love in our home. Easily distracted, my mother can become lost in old photos, or immerse herself in a new project without finishing the last. This bleeds over into conversation and what may have started as a simple topic, can end up being a profound and sentimental exchange on any given Sunday.
That’s the kind of woman I want to be. Excited. Passionate. Engaged.
My mother is my home. The door is always open, welcoming and warm. She is my foundation, and where I begin and end. Her voice is home. Her walls provide me comfort, her words provide me strength.
That’s the kind of woman I want to be.