I called her mom. Often it was mama. Hardly ever mommy. Never mother.
The word "mother" has a negative vibe to me. (I know not everyone agrees with this.)
Mother is the word said with the tone that mutters "I cannot believe what I have to deal with."
You hear that word and look up to see an old lady talking louder than is comfortable to an even older lady in the cruise-wear isle at JCPenny.
"that's not your color, Mother, would you please pick something, we have your hair appointment at three."
I always felt bad for that mother and promised myself that I would never be that daughter.
I never got the chance.
My mama passed through in her mid seventies. She was one of the bright stars in the heaven full of saints on earth. Now, fully realized outside her human skin always a bit too bogged down with physical frailness, she leaps and shines in unencumbered thought and emotion.
Free like she was meant to be.
I saw so much pain cross through my mama's life. Unbearable to me yet she bore it daily, most often with a smile.
She taught me much.
Our interactions ceased to age past the stage of my desperately needing her wisdom and her sweetly offering her ear and shoulder whenever they were in want.
Some days I am glad about this. Other days it breaks my heart that we did not get the opportunity to move into that growing old place.
I wonder sometimes what life would have revealed with both of us old and set in our ways. Would I have come into a second adolescence knowing well my intelligence and making sure she knew it too? Would I have challenged her life experience with my superior life discoveries? Would I have taken it upon myself to teach her how to survive in a world that had grown past her? Could I have endured her slowing down as I sped up?
Would I have called her, "mother"?
I like to think that the answer is no. Let me be smug in the safety of the fact that this cannot be tested.
I would have been patient and kind.
Respect would have been given as I understood her one sided opinions and archaic philosophies.
She would not have tried my patience.
I would not have shuffled her comforts into stacks of dignity and relevance.
We would have simply continued on as companions. As friends.
My wrinkles would have touched hers as I wondered at the beauty of her life imprinted in her soft skin.
I would have spoken louder as her aged ears would have muffled my voice but the words would have been filled with i-love-you's as I helped her put on her favorite blue sweater that should have been thrown out ten years before.
I would have daily known the blessing of a mama created to raise this daughter.
My mama would have deserved all of that.
I wish I could know that future.
We would have been perfect together.
I have a really beautiful mama. Not perfect yet perfect for me.
Gone too soon.
I love you mama.
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