Sunday, May 10, 2009

Mother's Day 2009

I take a deep breath this morning. I am up early, a half hour earlier than usual. There is so much on my mind that rest seems almost impossible. This house is officially under contract and only something major and untoward will derail its sale now. And yesterday we entered the option period on a new home of our own, probably about one mile from where we live now, in a newer neighborhood, a newer house, larger, more impressive from the street with bay windows that look out upon a pair of large trees, their knotted branches crawling in a kind of orchestrated pathway toward the sky that is both rustic and charming. There will be a yellow kitchen with white wainscoting when I get done with it, a study den with cherry hardwood flooring and a master bathroom so splashed with sunlight it will ease my soul just to enter into it. I'll take some pictures and post them soon along with the changes we make. Its in great condition but needs paint and some other updating.

It is Mother's Day today and I am glad I got up early, to take my soft moments with Joseph in my mind and heart. I ache with missing him this morning in a way that closes my throat with the depth of my yearning. I can see the last Mother's Day card he gave me, could go pull it out of my memory box if I wanted to. And I might at some point today. Its funny to have a whole day dedicated to thanking mothers for doing what we do. And I love having it when it comes to honoring my own mother, who is in Greece this year on a much deserved, very long vacation. But when it comes to me, I have to smile inside. Being Joseph, Nick and Alexander's mother is such a privilege. It was so eye opening as I came to feel and know that through Alexander's brain tumor and Joseph's leukemia. I know I had no idea until after those ordeals just how blessed I have been. It seems an easy, flippant way to communicate and those words seem inadequate to me for what I feel in my heart as I think of and enjoy my boys. As Joseph slipped away from us and I visited his Caringbridge page to let the world know he had gone on to heaven, the knowledge that it has been the privilege of my life to be his mother was so humble and raw inside me, and I recorded that there, on his page. And it is true. These precious, sacred souls who will grow to struggle through life as adults themselves, just the way I and you and everyone has, were mine for this brief flash of time. I love that they are planning to honor me today. They get so excited to have the opportunity to show me how they feel about me, and Stewart is taking me out to brunch with Nick and Alex early this morning. I feel Joseph's absence and I reach forward in my soul for feelings of his presence. I am still and will always be his mother, and I am thankful that even death cannot change that. A love deeper than death, for all of my children. And from my own mother...for me.

I plugged my Zune in this morning to charge it so that I can take a long, cathartic walk later today. I sat here before Joseph's picture in the early morning darkness, gently tearful, listening to the rain stop falling, lingering wetness dripping in thick, rich sounds of fertility with birds waking to call sweet Good Morning. A very old song came on my Zune, one I had forgotten I ever downloaded... a cheesy song from the 70s that I loved as a little girl. And I heard and felt Joseph's spirit and wept with that strange bittersweet combination of sorrow and gratitude.

You might wake up some morning
To the sound of something moving past your window in the wind
And if you're quick enough to rise
You'll catch a fleeting glimpse of someone's fading shadow

Out on the new horizon
You may see the floating motion of a distant pair of wings
And if the sleep has left your ears
You might hear footsteps running through an open meadow

Don't be concerned, it will not harm you
It's only me pursuing something I'm not sure of
Across my dreams with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love

You might have heard my footsteps
Echo softly in the distance through the canyons of your mind
I might have even called your name
As I ran searching after something to believe in

You might have seen me running
Through the long-abandoned ruins of the dreams you left behind
If you remember something there
That glided past you followed close by heavy breathing

Don't be concerned, it will not harm you
It's only me pursuing something I'm not sure of
Across my dreams with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love

Across my dreams with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love


karengberger said...

Happy Mother's Day, dear friend. I hope it is full of love and joy.

Demetra said...

I came across your blog and think you are most eloquent in sharing your thoughts about your son.

I did not lose a son, but my brother, last August, on his birthday. He turned 37 and was killed by a drunk driver.

I also lost my girl, my labrador retriever, who was killed by a vet who left a 5" hemostat in her abdomen after simple surgery.

I will pray for your son on his birthday coming up.

My mother and father are suffering like you and she is thankful for the earthly life she had with him, just like you.

I am told "Be strong for your parents." When in fact, parents are, somehow, stronger then all of us.

Stay strong, believe in Christ's eteranal love.

With love,