Mother's Day Musings

You know what it’s like- to step into a river with your skirt crumpled in hand, or your pants leg dem rolled up? To step in and your body becomes a wind vane that picks up the direction of the breeze while it calibrates the rays of sunshine. You know what it’s like to step in, right?

Yes, to step in. Not jump in or run in. To step in and feel the chilled water, the squishy mud or the textured sandy, pebbly floor…to just stand and allow yourself to gauge the familiar.

You know this experience is not wholly new. Yet, the zillion bubbles running by or the tickle of small fish or wispy grass gives you a new tingle. From this spot you take another step and another. Each helps you decide if you want to go deeper or farther or, to just sit there.

Maybe, you decide to climb up, around, over and between the rocks towards the rippling bath, then lie back and let the water wade across you. Or, you may choose to walk alongside the riverbank. You know?

You know what I mean.

Well this year’s Mother’s Day had a peculiar flow for me. As I stepped tentatively I noticed the memories and emotions that coursed through me.

I looked back to my very 1st Mother’s Day when it gave me great delight to surprise my mother by showing up to her church with her first grandchild. It was her first Grand-mother’s Day! (All puns intended.)

I looked back to the years before when I didn’t want to be a mother although I liked “mothering”. I preferred to foster or teach or babysit children. There were so many children already available and/or craving love. Becoming pregnant, going into labour, and all of that, was either hype or romanticism to me.

Even now, I will cross my eyes and tilt my head every time I remember the gynaecologist persuading/negotiating with me to birth children so that I can fulfil my dream of fostering or adopting…. Don’t ask now. It’s another story for another time.

My most impressionable Mother’s Day was the one I spent in the Children’s Hospital. One child was a patient there, another was in my belly, and the 3rd was living with grandparents. My joy, that day was to honour others at the hospital. But, let’s not get swept away by that current. That too is another story.

I remember spending Mother’s Day overseas with wee ones … I remember…. this and that.

Remembering brings me gratitude. However, this time around, my gratitude list is penned differently.

I am amazed that the girl I am today is appreciative of the man who chose me to mother his children. He knew that I didn’t want to. He had to pursue and to persuade as well as patiently wait. Had he not done so then I doubt I would have had the privilege of giving birth to, raising and growing up with the amazing children we have today. I admire them. They truly inspire me. Frankly, they make me appreciate every sacrifice made so far.

There is an indescribable joy when I hear their peers, teachers or others describe how much they respect them, or are influenced positively by them. Such an experience cannot be artificially generated. I thank my children and I thank those who share these moments with me. I am very thankful.

These children have now inspired me to live long and strong in order to see who they will become in the next 3 to 30 years. These children have become my teachers as I navigate this modern world. They also foster my curiosity and spur me on to new adventures. I admire their resilience as well as their optimism. I admire how they treat others. I admire their relationship with their father. I am truly thankful for each of them. I feel honored to be called their mother.

This year, once again, my Honor List includes the woman who birthed me. Truth be told, when I was younger, I didn’t like her much. As a matter of fact, I saw no beauty in her and I couldn’t understand why persons admired her or spoke so highly of her. To me, she was just my Mom. She just happened to be the one I live with who mothers me. It’s just like how I find myself with 10 fingers and toes. I never chose them. I can’t change their shape, size or complexion. They’re useful but… they’re just mine by someone else’s design.

As I got to know other mothers, my eyes were opened to the fact that I would rather not trade in my own. After all, some of these simple trades can turn out complex or complicated or irreversible. In any case, it would be most regrettable if I happened to trade my mother for one of the ones we children called, “Mad-ders”. I am sure you know the type. No need to have your imagination run wild, don’t it?

As time went on, and I learned more of my mother’s own life story, I began to admire her. Sometimes I sympathized with her. She evolved into a heroine. As I transition through the seasons of womanhood, my esteem for her has increased. She is indeed a phenomenal woman. It’s just that I have been very slow to recognize it. No wonder the Bible says, “Her children arise and call her blessed[i].”

In fact, it underscores the Ewe[ii] proverb: “Fish is the last one to acknowledge the existence of water - unless of course, you take him out.” Makes sense, nuh true?

Tell me, have you ever tried to walk towards the beginning of a river or waterfall? It can be a fascinating trek. Similarly, My Honor List this year highlighted that I am honored to be a part of a phenomenal tribe of women. My own sisters are gifted mothers. They are superb! It takes no skin off my back to say quite frankly that my sisters spur me on in my own parenting role.

Then, the rippling river goes up to “my family matriarch” who is a May-born mega-woman named Lauris Leolyn Louise ... She is my grandmother and the daughter of Miss Lil’ and one-han’ Grandpa. I have always been proud to know her as my grandmother. One recurring source of pride is when someone just says, “You a Miss Lauris’ gran’daughta? Enet' daughta? Aaaah see!”

That discovery sometimes led to some favor like a sweetie or a story or some glowing remark or some action that made our trek worthwhile…Uhmmm…

You know what?...

Since thoughts are foaming within, let me not dillydally here. Suffice it to say, Mama put the phenom in phenomenal. As a matter of fact, she inspired the main character in my first book, Sweet Sop See.

Even though I never knew my other grandmother intimately, I have always noted that whenever my father mentions her there is a weight of endearment that goes beyond words. Mary.

Miss Mary.

My father who is a gifted speaker, rarely speaks of her. But, for sure, once a year, as my birthday nears, he seems to germinate the thought that her birthday and mine are at hand. That tells me she is an extra-special woman. And, somehow, quite unconsciously, over the years it taught me that I wanted to remain in that file for my Daddy.

Hhhmmm, isn’t it amazing how we can be influenced? Isn’t it a bit mysterious how one’s identity is chiseled even by light strokes? Reminds me of how water, which you can’t hold in your hand, has the ability to smooth glass, carve rocks and redefine locations over time.

This Mother’s Day has clarified once more that I am the product of someone’s big idea. I never initiated these relationships. I dare not say I have contributed much to any. I still kind-a feel that I am a part of the current that moves us all. I truly feel honored to be a part of this inheritance and legacy.

Do you know what it’s like to be by the water and a dragonfly flits by? The glint of its armor interjects the space. Nothing changes as it whizzes in and out. But then again, you’re aware of difference.

Well, same way so, this Mother’s Day plunged me into a waterfall. One that is at once steep, piercing, and… perhaps, therapeutic. My friend, I am painfully aware of how privileged I am to be present as a Mother.

You see, just a few months ago, my colleague, my friend, my peer, my… passed away. Her children and mine are the same age. Sometimes I have to arrest the thoughts that rush in with things like, “It should have been me”, or, “It could have been me.” Yes, I arrest them with all my might so that it does not suck me into a swirling whirlpool. The effort is real.

The feeling is unique. I don’t even know how to speak to her children or to her mother. I don’t know how to be silent. I don’t know how to be present. I feel numb. I feel paralyzed. But, I dare not inveigle a maelstrom.

Strange enough, I also feel … such … uhmmm, gratitude. Yes, gratitude that our lives intertwined. Gratitude to be influenced by her; to know she taught my children and gave them wings. Gratitude to do life-adventures with her; to be sharpened by her; to… to… to do laughter and cuss-ration with her; to grow up together as women too.

Gratitude that she lived ‘so long’ to see her children begin adulthood.

Gratitude to know that she was able to know how much she is loved.

Gratitude that I expressed my own love and appreciation to her before she transitioned.

Gratitude that she no longer suffers in her body.

Gratitude for… the cascade that mingles with tears.

Petra.

She is truly a rock. Silent, present, valuable and strong.

This Mother’s Day is different for me in another way. I have a longer list of students who have lost their mothers. I am so acutely aware of my teens and young 'uns who can no longer touch or speak to their moms… who can no longer be annoyed by their Moms…nor can they annoy their Moms. Their experience is now truly virtual. I mourn for them.

Nonetheless, I have joy for them too. Why? Because each of those students has a special Mom and a special story. No joke. Fa real! As a result, each of them will be more mature in the way they value life and relationships just because of this experience. Each has something that cannot be learned theoretically.

I pray for their wholeness. I pray they will be allowed to grieve healthily. I pray liquid prayers. I ask God to envelope them in tangible ways and save them from bitterness. May they share the best of their Mothers with the world.

Aaaahh! Would you believe these thoughts overflow into a challenge? They ask: How much time and energy am I truly giving to honouring those who mean most to me? It makes me revaluate whether each word and action is truly worthwhile.

As the roving river widens, it moves so slowly that it seems… still. In the stillness, consider: Mother’s Day is really a culmination of 365 mundane days, isn’t it? And, during the leap year its 366. Yet, the scenes change and the opportunities change too. How meaningful are the moments I spend with you, Mom? How many meaningful mom moments do I create? Soooo …

This Mother’s Day is familiar and yet it whispers another ancient saying[iii]: “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for its not the same river and he’s not the same man.” 

Do you catch my drift?

This year’s Mother’s Day has a unique sensibility. This Mother’s Day will not be repeated even though it will recur next year. I appreciate the etchings left in me.

I am so thankful for the Somebody who created the river and the experiences and the me that is the beneficiary. I am more aware now. More thankful. More confident and, I dare say, more competent. As a result, I am being intentional about trusting this Somebody to take me farther along. Trusting that I will be guided in how to linger and how to leave a lasting legacy.

Uhhhm, another phrase trickles with new meaning: “He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul”[iv] Do you feel the same?

Repeat it. “He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.” Now, replace the words me and my with your own name. Seriously! Yes. Seriously do it. See what happens. Say it aloud and allow its waves to refresh you.

My Honour List is evidence that I am wealthier for the bonds that have brought me to this year. I am wealthier. These women (and the men too) are my mineral deposits. I want to be intentional in Honoring them. There is a surge of verve. Makes me wonder if this is an example of the underwater swell that travels great distances. Hmmm….or, … Maybe this is a sign of overthinking.

All this clues me into the fact that I am a maturing river. Steadily moving along with more memories and sensibilities. What you see on the surface does not reveal the depth. As far as your eyes can see does not reveal the tributaries, the beginnings nor the endings. Best believe this proverb: Quiet river run deep.

Aaahhh me Fren, what is your current thought? How will you channel your energies on the mundane days till we step into the next Mother’s Day? Will you share your Honour List with me too?

Till then, I say, farewell. All puns intended.

[i] Proverbs 31The noble woman whose value is far more than rubies (vs 10)... her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her. (v.28)

[ii] The Ewe are an ethnic group in Ghana and Togo, Africa

[iii] Saying is attributed to Greek philosopher, Heraclitus

[iv] Psalm 23:2