I couldn’t have expressed this homage to my mother and to all the mothers out there better.
Mother. A word so easily taken for granted because mothers are always there to support, comfort and encourage. In a mother’s eyes, nothing is insurmountable. I now brush what I’ve seen, felt and experienced, framing it in love, compassion and faith, while others will fill their own with other shades and hues.
I step back from the canvas for perspective and close my eyes and my skin feels a warm caress of a priceless treasure. She has scooped me up and sat me next to her on the stool in front of the piano, my legs dangling, not quite able to touch the floor. She starts to play and we sing an oldie: “Daddy’s Little Girl” then she turns to me and smiles and starts to play and sing, “Peg Of My Heart.”
I now take a deep breath and swallow the lump in my throat and continue the strokes of my portrait of recollections. I am running in from school, breathless and excited. Wonderful aromas envelope me in a blanket of security and contentment, as I grab for the cookies hot from the oven. She hugs me and asks, “And how was your day.” It made me feel so important.
Her patience, I tested more than once, always tugging for her attention. “Mom guess what?” She had a way of doing ten things at once and carrying on simultaneous conversations with two individuals. I know, I’ve done it myself. I had a great teacher.
My canvas takes shape now and feels fluid as I continue to paint. I am newly married and my parents are visiting us. My husband and I have an argument and I am very upset and walk out. He comes and gets me and brings me back. My mother, who never interfered in our marriage, spoke up and defended my husband. Shocked, I said, “How can you take his side? I am your daughter!” She gave me a level gaze and said, “I know, but he is right. Now, kiss and make up.” I remember bursting out laughing. “I think you love him more than you love me!”
I lovingly fill in, for this portrait is important to me. I must get it just right. My first-born son arrives and my mother flies in, taking over the house like it was her own. My husband ate like a king. He came up to me one day and said, “What a woman! She never stops to rest! She is now up in the attic cleaning that out too!” One evening, my father calls up from their home far away, sheepishly asking her, “Honey, I have run out of your dinners in the freezer. When are you coming home?” Then he finally admits, he really called because he just plain missed her and she was on the next plane home in a heartbeat. She was always there for my other two sons too, demonstrating patience, tolerance and armfuls of love and kisses with lessons in compassion for others.
Her advice, sound and sought after, was given willingly and lovingly. Growing up, our house was always full of aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. My mother always had room at the table for one more. She reacted positively, always looking beyond a person’s imperfections and flaws, seeing only the goodness in them. She was unselfish and loving to a fault.
Well, I am finally finished. A tear slips and dampens my canvas and I still see…
Her wiping of noses and rubbing of toeses
Her kissing scraped knees and her violets and roses
Her laughing and crying at jokes and sorrows
Her hugging and talking of yesterdays and tomorrows
I am trying to attain her strength and grace
And aim to reach it at length, but must face
The fact that sadly occurs to me each day
I can’t. (She’s no longer here)
“Hi Mom. It’s me. I just called to say……”
Peggy/Mother first & foremost, then Mystery Author Extraordanaire…chuckle.
Chase your dreams, everyday is a blessing.