“And so our mothers and grandmothers have, more often than not anonymously, handed on the creative spark, the seed of the flower they themselves never hoped to see—or like a sealed letter they could not plainly read.”
-Alice Walker, from In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens
Last week I shared an encounter which made me wistful for my mother (pictured at right as a young girl). It was her birthday last week and I still miss her terribly six years after her death. I have come to embrace this ache as a beautiful sign of how much I loved her, how much my heart is capable of loving, and so in some ways I treasure this lingering grief.
I have shared here in the past that one of the things I grieve the most is that in the few years before her death she had moved fully into her own strength. She had reached that point in her life where she cared little about what others thought of her and so she lived from authentic passion and was radiant. With serious degenerative illness, her body was also fragile and vulnerable, but she navigated the tension of body and spirit with integrity and power.
Her own mother (pictured at left with my aunt) had to forsake many of her own passions to raise a family. These were the expectations of the world in which she lived. I know that I carry her unfulfilled longings within me. Each time I claim my own voice, my own passion, my own strength, I do so in part for her.
Alice Walker offers us this poignant image of mothers and grandmothers who hand on “the creative spark,” “the seed,” and the “sealed letter” to us. My work in the world is to catch fire, to bloom, and to unleash my own secret words.
Will you join me?
________________________
13 Responses
I am sending this to share a personal Mother Daughter Story entitled:
Mom is Still Teaching Me
By: Mary Muir, M.Ed.
For the first time in my life —my mother does not know me.
For the past five years mom has been suffering with Alzheimer’s and lives in a Rest Home nearby. Every day my husband Roger and I have visited her and take her for a ride or for tea. It has been a special family ritual that helped sustain her quality of life and provided sensory stimulation.
Equally important, it has given us the satisfaction of knowing she looked forward to our times together. Each day , she would greet us a big smile, take my hand and like clockwork would say: “Oh good – I am so glad You are here.- Let’s go out and do something.”
More often then not, she would add.. “and maube we can make a visit to church” From the time that she was a child, her spirituality has been a major part of her life. Even when I could not go, my husband Roger and mom would go on these excursions and stop in the church and say a prayer.
Last December Mom became 100 years old. Even then, she was able to walk without a cane and chat about the simple joys of nature, trees, sunshine, clouds and changing weather. I often joked that she is my best teacher on Mindfulness. Despite her Alzheimers, she continues to teach me to appreciate the power of the present moment., She notices the size and shades of green leaves and beauty of a blue sky. I remember when I was a teenager Mom had taken a public speaking course and the quote she learned and frquently repeated was – “Focus on the Now Point of Time.”
ON July 20, 2009, the now point of time took on a different significance. It will long live in my memory. After returning from a few days vacation – my husband and I were both shocked to find that my mom has “Lost” any memory of us. In that moment we too felt lost– suddenly erased by the tangles of this disease.
She had no idea who we were or that we are married. She has forgotten entirely that we have been coming to see her daily for the past five years. She continues to ask me who I am, if I know where her daughter is and why her daughter never comes to visit.
She lost all connection to my face, my identity and my voice.
This is the beginning of an ending It marks the end of life as we knew it. It symbolizes and permanent change in my role as her only child daughter and a major shift in our relationship.
Professionally, I am well versed in the symptoms of Alzheimer’s. I knew that this could happen one day, but I was not fully prepared for the emotional impact of becoming a total stranger to my own mother.
These changes are further evidence that the disease in now progressing full scale to take away even the smallest consolations we had as caregivers and that she had as an Alzheimer’s Victim.
Unless someone has had personal experience and has a family member with dementia – it is difficult to imagine the heartbreak it creates and the amount of emotional readjustment it demands from both care giver and patient.
An expert from the Alzheimers Association told me that the best way to approach our visits now it to avoid making any reference to being her daughter. Unless she brings it up. I do not mention that I have been there to see her. In spite of the personal pain I am feeling, it is important to confront the reality and not walk away from her at a time she is most vulnerable. Sometimes our biggest life lessons come through our most difficult challenges.
I am trying to focus on the calmness and comfort I can bring to her. I cherish and savor the momentary glimpses of the loving woman I have known throughout my life. In our daily rides, she still notices the natural beauty of the sky and trees. Her gift to me is still a reminder to be fully present in the simple blessings around us.
We have let go of the need for roles and titles. We are now just two pilgrims on this journey and our focus is to relate purely at the heart level .
As a homage to my mom and her legacy, I offer this prayer to all mothers and daughters–
May you never have to take this life changing journey
May you not put off making time for those you love and
May you always remember to cherish and appreciate one another–
While you can.
Christine,
As a little girl, I was my mother’s mother, the one who comforted her, and rocked her to sleep, and listened to her pain, and frustrations in life. I think that my feminism and my love of women, and the deep need to fight for and protect women’s rights, came from that experience and was meant to fashion my call in life.
Yes, I will join you…and will also join you… in mother-grief. It has been forty years now and I still hold vigil the week of her birthday and death. Thank you for giving me new meaning for this time. I continue to love her deeply.
Thank you Christine. We are all speaking in our mother’s voices…not only our biological mothers but also all the women who nurtured and encouraged us in our own creative efforts to reach farther than they were able. Clarissa Pinkola Estés in her book, Women Who Run With the Wolves reminds us:
Even if you had the most wonderful mother in the world, you may eventually have more than one. As I have often told my own daughters, “You are born to one mother, but if you are lucky, you will have more than one. And among them all you will find most of what you need.” Your relationship with las todas madres, the many mothers, will most likely be ongoing ones, for the need for guidance and advisement is never outgrown, nor, from the point of view of women’s deep creative life, should it ever be.
May we remember and honor our todas madres, our many mothers.
Jan
It is a long, slow process for me, with much backward and forward, but you know I’m joining you in spirit from across the ocean.
Yesterday I was flicking through my beautiful diary for next year which arrived recently (http://www.glenniekindred.co.uk/earthpathways/), and I found this poem in it. I thought of you when I read it yesterday, so this post of yours is perfect timing:
Ancestor cake
I bless and cut up the fruit
as before through the ages
I soak the fruit overnight
and you visit me dear ones
in my dreams.
I line the tin with your stories
today’s songs mingle with the sugar
Now and then is bound together with the flour.
My future visions fatten the cake.
Through your love
I live richly today.
May my children know this recipe well.
The poet is someone I don’t know, called Kesty Jakes.
This is such a special post thank you Christine.
I will indeed, especially when in the company of women like yourself. Such lovely words you offer here.
I am grateful that much of the creativity and passion and life that is now taking shape in my life is from my mom and her mom… I more and more see the connection. And I see the connection continuing in the lives and passions of my daughters ~ that warms my heart beyond words.
Indeed I will. What a beautiful, thoughtful, wise post.
I am coming into my own, slowly. It is a long process. It is fuelled most by other women who have come into their own and by reading posts such as this one :)
Today I have written about the guilt I still feel about saying no. Today I said no to going to my friend’s daughter’s play. I have been having recurrent bouts of fatigue again lately (I am post-CFS, which I had for 6 years). I am not going to work today, nor to my friend’s daughter’s play, and I feel guilty about it. I feel guilty that I am not going to either of those things but I am sitting here responding to your blog post. Therefore, I am not at death’s door. Therefore, I should be going to work and going to my friend’s daughter’s play. Haha :)
I love this post so much, and am so grateful that I read it here today. Thank you Christine
need you even ask that last question of me? :-) i am blessed each day to take your hand and join in the lighting of fire, blooming and unleashing. you are a woman who has come into her own much earlier – not perfectly, probably not completely, but fully and amazingly. the letters your mother has written upon your heart are spreading throughout the universe in abundancy. xoxox
Beautiful, Christine. The photos are so charming. And I love the image of our creative spark being fanned by our Mothers, Grandmothers, Aunts and ancestors.
One of my creative guides is my Aunt who died when I was a teenager. She had her own art studio in the house, and it was strictly off limits. To even peek in the door was an adventure – and I know that I carry with me her fierce, protective love of making art. Of having solitude. Time and space to create.