This poem came to me after my morning walk. Having recently taken a leap of faith, I meet people daily undergoing the same metamorphosis. Change is the best tool to meet the hidden self. Endless, I don’t know how to do that, moments arise. Self-doubt comes tot the party uninvited. It wants the fairy bread! Self-doubt is no match for Google.
On my writing desk I have a photo of my mother. She laughs at something riotously funny. The image in the sepia tones of time, is someone I never got to know. Her European side locked in the vault of her heart buried deep,sleeping soundly.
This morning I reflected on Mother’s Day and the cycles of nature. As a child I revered my mother, loved tagging along as she completed her household chores. In adolescence we drifted apart as I began to befriend for the woman inside me. I selected the direction of my feminine reality.
Then I became a mother, young and confident. Embracing motherhood I sought to provide foundations for my children to stand on in their lives. I watched them adore me, running to the door when I came home from the hospital, hugging my knees and saying, “I love you mum.”
My heart still overflows just remembering this.
My readers may recognize this image, the basis of a chapter in Schicksal.
I guess, as a bookish sort I should love libraries. My love of books came from time alone. Having no siblings, my mother decided at an early age that she was not my primary plaything. It left me with time to fill.
Christmas challenges many, for all kinds of reasons. December arrived and with it our ICU welcomed suicide attempts, ODs and road trauma. It began with the tinsel, early December. Already the stores heralded Christmas consumerism.
Among the decorations, fake snow and up beat carols, shoppers milled and mulled looking for the perfect gift. Some faces shone with the sheer pleasure of it while others fondled the array of offerings in a distracted way. Obligation.
Growing up can be confusing. Our mothers the bulwarks of our beings guide and love us. Our fathers love us too but often the responsibility of work, family finances and survival of our family unit takes them away from the home.
Writing Schicksal, I found myself in a place of deep divide. From my mother I had only ever received one perspective of my maternal grandfather.
Unfortunately this perspective was harsh, fueled by the anger of desertion; a child hurt and trapped in a past where forgiveness eluded her.
“An idea of the closeness underground.”
I joined the world community in my disbelief and abhorrence of the events in Paris just a few days ago. My research for ‘Schicksal’ opened the way for a deeper understanding of trauma, war and the effect of these on the future lives of the survivors.
Just this morning browsing through my social media, I found a post on grief. One of my closest friends and I returned from a weekend away at the beach. My parent’s estate enabled me to buy the house and my effort enabled me to renovate it.