The spring is a time of rebirth. New buds on trees, flowers and in nature, new babies every where. This time draws thoughts to our own mothers. As we grow and mature, the relationship changes sometimes for the better sometimes bumpier. But, at the end of the day she is still Mother. I came across this poem. I thought of my own Mom, me as a mom and my daughters as moms.
Although a daughter, I write this as a mother.
We're both mothers now, of child-daughters:
You, a grandmother forced to be a mother,
And I, a widow, alone with my fatherless daughter.
Death has thus shaped both our lives in ways
We would not have chosen. Yet life is still the bright,
Painfully lovely thing it was always:
Our children like dancers on a dark, splendid night,
Needing our loves as I needed yours; your love
The same song as ever, a lullaby I remember
So well from my time in your arms. We move
In slow spirals towards the stars. September
Has weeks like June, yet is closer to the fall.
Love has no answers, yet its beauty answers all.
This May 9th, when you give your Mom a gift of love, also give her the gift of your time.
