Mama and me.
I was given this photo a few days before Cam and I got married, along with a treasure trove of others from my childhood that I had never seen before. It was one of my favorite wedding gifts (thank you, Niki). I looked at it then and today with a feeling of both familiarity and frustration, because it’s an image I couldn’t have conjured on my own.
In the 30 years since my mother’s passing, I still struggle to remember the sound of my her voice, or the way she moved and smelled and sounded as complete memories. Instead, I have fragments of her that resurface at odd times. But what I do remember completely is the feeling of this photo: of absolutely safety, comfort, warmth and healing, the kind conveyed from someone whose love you know will never waver.
It is a knowing that lives within me and consoles me on the days when I am acutely aware of that lack in my daily life. There is no replacement for your mother’s embrace.
But the longer I gaze at this image, I also question what I see. The dark circles under her eyes, the furrow of her brow, the deep shadows in cheeks and a jaw that I don’t remember ever being as sharp and thin as this. This is one of several photos from this set that visualize the contradictions of my childhood. As tired as my mother may look here, this is probably the healthiest she will ever be in my life. As joyful and in love as my parents are in some photos, you can also see the strife that will eventually lead them to a nasty divorce that was not resolved by the time she died. There are some of me looking mischievous and playful, and others where I am withdrawn and pale, already suffering from the weight of secret trauma. There is simply no way to separate the loss of my mother from all of those other memories, good and bad. I needed so much more from her before she left. There is so much more I wish for now.
BUT: one gift of this photo that I hadn’t seen before is the gift of MY embrace. Whatever I recall of my mother’s embrace, in this instance, I realize that I’m the one embracing her. My chubby little arms clutch at her sides, while her long arms fall away, whether at rest or ready to spring into action, I don’t know. Whatever worries she may have pondered here, I can see our love at work. The same enduring love that gave me life is also received here by her.
So as someone who is missing my mama on this Mother’s Day, I wish a happy Mother’s Day to ALL who contribute to the exchange of enduring, life-giving love. We need so much more of it in the world right now.
