The Mother of memories

It is Mothers day tomorrow, and that is usually a bit of a kick in the teeth.

You see, as many of my readers are well aware, my mother died back in 2005. That was hard to deal with. really hard. She was 56 and I was 32.

 I never took for granted that my mother would have an especially long life but I didn't see that coming. It was 3 months from her diagnosis (of Primary Liver cancer) to her death. Life went on (I had a two year old son), and shortly after my mother's death our second child was conceived. But though life went on, so did the grief, in an unfolding revelation of its depths. Once the initial shock wore off (and with it a strange kind of euphoria..no, really!) it seemed to snowball for about 2 years.

Sometimes it would hit me so hard out of the blue that I would collapse on my knees howling in anguish. The severing of that tie was (and to a lesser extent still is) the most powerful emotion I have ever undergone. To the extent that the arrival of an offspring cannot hold a candle to its rawness.

But even then, Mothers day was not especially hard. You see, what did the grief of no Mum on mothers day (or Christmas, or birthdays) really add? Not an iota. Every day was filled with grief and loss. It was neither worse, nor better. It was just another day without her.

And then My wife ended our 15 year relationship. We have been separated for 5 years now. Initially (in the first year) I don't think mothers day wasn't even acknowledged. But in all the subsequent years, after it dawned on me that I would have to buy her presents and cards on behalf of the kids, it bought into my life a rather darker experience of that day. To say I resented it would be a bit of an understatement.

It didn't help that I felt like the victim in our split. Of course, like the good Christian I am (hah) I had forgiven her.....but the day in question let me know just how superficial that was.

I bore it, I think, rather gracefully. I could not, after all, deny my kids their enjoyment. And, I reasoned, she wasn't a bad mother (little matter of our divorce aside). But I couldn't celebrate it myself. Often I found myself at home, alone, my mother dead and and my wife, an ex. Women seem to leave. That is how it is, for me.

And in time, as predicted by so many my grief began to abate, both for my Mother and my marriage.

This is the first year, that I have wanted to actively celebrate Mothers day. God has been doing some deep work in me, in addressing my bitterness and the regret that consumed me. He is freeing me from a whole lot of that stuff and I want to love again. I do not mean romance, I mean love. So this year when I bought my ex her gift and card, although there is no real change to the gift, there has been a change in the giving. A resentment free gift to the fantastic mother of my children. Although she doesn't know it, the lack of resentment is the bigger gift, and it will go on giving all year, not just on mothers day.

And love is the way of keeping my Mother alive.

You see, as time passes and the pain lessens, so do the memories. The week after she died, I could have described those last 3 months to you in detail. I could have told you the clothes that they buried her in. But no longer. The more distance between us increases, the more my memories hang on moments, polarised moments, and I realise that I am losing her all the time. I can no longer recall so much detail. And the detail seems all the more precious for its elusiveness. Time is taking her.

But then I remember those moments and there are reasons why they have lasted. They are moments that contain the essence of her. And the essence will not fade easily, it's fragrance soaking in to the fabric of my soul. She taught me throughout a lifetime, however short, who she was and what she believed in.

And my Mum was a perpetual student. She never stopped learning. It amazed me, how she transformed as she aged. Like a flower unfolding to the seasons sun. She was on a journey with God and she trusted him implicitly.

I think maybe because she had some terrible experiences of the abuse of her trust it caused her to trust her Heavenly Father so much more. She seemed to me, often naïve. She was so absolute, at times, that it rocked my cynicism. For her 'God said it and that settled it'. To my shame, in my crueller moments I almost mocked her for it, in my head.

But now, as I continue on my own journey through pain, I see that her simple trust in the goodness of God, and the command to live a life of love, is the most valuable lesson of all.

And, like the parable of the unforgiving servant, I find that who has been forgiven much, loves much. And if you Love much, it deepens your own experience of love. I have finally started to learn that lesson.

I know Mothers day is hard for some of us but, I urge you, celebrate the good, not because of what your experience is but because it seems to make good things flourish. When we withhold our love it seems to kill everything good. When we water liberally what is good, or what should be good with love and respect, they spring  into life around us.

Mothering is all about nurturing. We can learn an awful lot from that. Put bitterness aside and be the change you want to see.

Containment

This is us
within these sheets
within these four walls
contained within this moment 

Carrying dust angels,
ascending and descending the ladder,
shafts of sunlight search through
the gaps in the curtains
the cracks in our containment,
like a searchlight
seeking escaped prisoners
the outside breaking in
we are free in our confinement
still, on the run, in each others arms
and running out of time.

The content of our containment
is content,
Meant for now,
meant for moments like these
what is contained
within the sheets
of memory and time

naivety and sex and a tainted kind of innocence
pleasure
acceptance
retreat,
simple joy,
in your arms,

she smiles and
 the tiny golden hairs on her arms
seem to catch the light of it
and they shimmer in sun

What do the searchlights say
what do the outskirts of time demand
as they hammer, unheard,
on the walls of our basement box

that our lives are beckoning us back
that the unfulfilled longings wont long by themselves
that our separation seeks us
that this is a contained moment
and the shell of it will shatter,

they say;

'bring us your children'

and we duly obey


but that is for then
and then is for now
 I keep you contained
in the memory of the moment

we two were once one
withdrawn from life
and on the run
content to be
and bathed in sun

and I think,
that I wish
the Buddha was right,
that enlightenment perhaps is
the absence of desire,

but we are unwise
and we need the fire

Turn the page

Whatever you did 5 minutes ago,
That so filled your heart with shame and rage,
Beneath the blood it is forgotten,
That was another age,
Forgive yourself and,
Turn the page.

Every day was written in,
Before one of them came to be your cage,
But in the book of life and grace,
The script's as blank as an empty stage,
Learn your lines and improvise,
Play your part and,
Turn the page.

Whatever the  grave clothes you wear,
From your former deathly wage,
The plot line demands that you take them off,
Be you sinner, saint or sage,
Shed regret and pain and naked to new life,
Come forth and take the stage,
The old you has been written out, so,
Turn the page.