In My Mother’s House
1990
In my mother’s house this day I sit, and
witness memories around me.
I smell her scent, and see her trail of
collected treasures, arranged
with much thought…and patience.
In this house I
think of yesteryears in other homes like these; all still
relics of times past. Before mine, or even her
childhood. But, as old
as I am now, I am beginning to understand her qwirk-y collections.
She is taking care
of herself, and healing “her little-girl Christine,” who
longs for the simpler, happier existence of her
early youth. Relics
that remind her of a peaceful serenity, she is
just trying to re-create.
And that’s okay.
But only if my
mother understood, the terminal disease I have that is
only in mission for now—I have only a ‘daily
reprieve contingent
upon the maintenance of my spiritual condition.” But in my remission, so much I am now able to
learn about myself, and her.
Other hurts, disappointments, sharpened reality
of who I am versus
who I was mad to believe I was for many years by
the people in my mother’s house. But it
is many years from that time then.
The people are all gone, or absent or
changed. They should and could
be looked at from
a safe distance. Now. For tremendous healing has
occurred, with
more to come. My eyes rove to rest on
the bottle
of glue, so
needed in her multitude of crafts.
Does my mother know that the glue that is
needed to mend the past is
something that
doesn’t come in a bottle? It is Belief,
and Faith and
Patience,
and Trust—that create the bond? To be true to yourself is
the answer.
Trust the child within, and let her play.
As I carefully
study the relics once more,
I understand my mother and
her house. Its faintly dusty
mustiness all triggers her yearning for the
part of herself of yesteryear. She
doesn’t know that she has the
secret of her youth inside. And I cannot hand her the key.
Mother, there is no key. But Faith and Serenity are placed in our
lives
to fill our
yearning for yesterday. But living to
re-create yesterday, is
known to bring a
great comfort. And tomorrows are
memories to be
made, before we lose ourselves for good in
yesterdays.
Remember that Patience is a virtue, and Time
is only a relative
measure of Eternity.
Acceptance of Life on Life’s terms is the key,
if anything is.
You can never understand that “The Promises” are
coming true, as I witness my own death. Oh, but you will see my
familiar form again…
As fresh as the day I was born. So innocent, and young. But in closer
look, the worn
expression and silvering indicate someone, well…
who has weathered
a personal storm, yet a rainbow is radiantly
starting to
shimmer and will be glorious…
When the gray clouds go
away, once and for all.
I hope she remembers to look for the
rainbow…and keeps looking,
even as she grows
tired in her endless Patience.
For this I Hope and Pray, as I ponder my
Mother’s House this day.
April
22, 1990
Daughter
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In My Mother’s House
1993
In my mother’s house this day, quiet and sunlight filter through the front room
windows—so lit-up the room is ! It’s a Spring day of 1993, and 1943 and
1903…. and just how can that be?
Why, there are collected treasures of yesteryear…so fondly sought and displayed; thoughtful arrangements, so patiently placed and re-placed. Only memories of growing up with these artifacts around me; but to her---
they were a special part of her childhood world.
Stamp collections, doll collections, teddy bears, too, are popular hobbies…with the sole purpose of gathering quantities of the same. But my mother’s reasons are several-fold: function use, decoration, but much more importantly---a gathering of memories of “safe and warm.”
The relics are not just “things” anymore, they are holy in nature. Like the continuation of Life, the rising, sun, harvesting crops. Does she really have all this in mind, as she attends the markets to acquire and re-create the days of yesteryear?
Or is it just the “seek-and-find” of it all?
My mother’s house for years held anger and tears and pain in its walls and furnishings and rugs. And I (like others) blamed the THINGS in the house. Or the house itself! How absurd.
But the key to the answer was not in the things, but the people in my mother’s house. They are all gone. But the spirits of those people are imprinted with all the others in the relics of many years gone by. If we look closer: there’s Great-Great-Aunt Tessie, and Great Grandfather Ned. What a joy, and comfort!
But times were hard to those people then, and now they are romanticized. But what of today? What will be collected and treasured by you, Mother, to remind you of the present? The memories of distant grandchildren, or an absent son or daughter. Or that your daughter is getting a third chance at life…to start over and do it right.
What can be saved to commemorate today---what represents Hope, and Faith, and Trust and Patience?
The answer is inside my mother, inside her mementos inside her house. But she must stop the clatter, and listen to the quiet of her house—and wait. And hope. And Pray. There is no other way.
Tomorrows are memories to be made, and memories of yesterdays are for reflecting and learning. And sighing over. There is comfort in knowing that everything happened exactly as it was supposed to. My mother’s house has withstood the test of time. Time is only a relative measure of Eternity.
And we only have today. So think about what you, Mother, can do today for yourself. The rest will be taken care of by someone else. Love your husband, take joy in the day, love your children and where and how they are.
But more importantly, love yourself. Congratulate that YOU are a survivor. As mothers can be and are. And remember to keep looking for the rainbow…even when there’s not a rain cloud in sight.
In my mother’s house I remember the faint scent of lavender, a regal aroma pf her relics’ faint mustiness. Mixed with the outdoors’ freshness of the day…
both of yesterday and today. In my mother’s house.
Daughter
April
22, 1993
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In My Mother’s House
1996
It is in my Mother’s house this day, that I find a familiar, yet strange
trace of yesterday . . . and tomorrow—
her collection has grown strong in number. Like tin
soldiers multiplying in lines, as they march to the
rhythm of Time.
With pewter, and tin and metals of varied age, remembrances
of yesteryear; the valued, some useless . . .
O! such mystique! The life, and times and persons, merely skeletons
in shrines and history books and weathered graves---
But what of the Mother in her house? The climate of Her “weathered” house?
Sunny moods. Gentle and breezy words. Winds of change.
Balmy lives. Unkind and rough seasons are long past. But,
My Mother’s house is the soul . . . Her soul, no longer covered with blossoming youth;
alas transposed with lines.
Sculpts of age of wisdom and hardship and growth;
crowning glory bestow the winner of Life’s lessons.
The spirit is beneath the dust of Time; crackling well-worn leathers, covers
of pages of stories; Life is marked by the presence of
inevitable maturing. Medals of an honored general. My Mother.
My mother as myself, I look to know where my house, my soul will lead
me. Age finds me, too. Again, more and more— her house is my house. As
I grow softer . . . yet gently lined. I want the mustiness to fill my house. Oh my!
Old pitchers here. Victorian lace there. The tryst with
antiquities of paraphernalia has entered.
A child marvels at colored threads . . . patterns slowly appear on fabric,
stretched tight in wooden hoops. Fingers so nimble, so deftly move.
As I watch, I blink. Forty years pass.
Skillful fingers. A flash of a needle. Are mine, not hers- at last . . .
Four hands creating the quilt of a relationship in tandem . . . In my Mother’s
blessed house, this day!
Daughter
April 22, 1996
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1999
In my
Mother's House this day is quiet and dimness - with dust suspended in the late
afternoon sun...in streams of light that fall into the Shadows.
The Light
holds no Love or warmth...just service...doing it's will to attempt to
illuminate the darkness that lies in the mind of My Mother's House..
The still in my Mother's
House is deafening....with the echo of the last bitter fight still ringing in
the darkness, with no promise of being silenced.
In My Mother's
House this day....all is gone - nothing is there. No love, no hate, no people
, no connection of spirits in the dance of Life.
The bleak of
the house is reminiscent of prior years, prior people, prior
times. O, Dear Mother, why do they have
to come back again? Those times are
gone...you promised me in this house that they would never come back to haunt
me, nor haunt us.
Please, make it go
away.....you have the power to make it all go away ....time is running out in
My Mother's House.
Pleading
Daughter
1999
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In My Mother's House
2002
It
IS my Mother's House - laughter, cooking, friends, family.....It is back....it
is really really here ! Her house is awake with the Life that is not
suspended any longer. It is out, in the
Sunlight once again. How blessed.
There
is something different in this house.
There is growth and healing with my Mother. A strong Faith has brought about the Magic
and Miracle of Blessings. So, heartening
is the promise of the continuity there.
In my Mother’s House…. Within
my own creator of Life’s dwelling…. such a significant, magnificent palace of
memories, and scents, and lessons, and a mending and love.
In
My Mother’s House: I enter the vestibule
of heaven….but it’s heaven on Earth….it’s not my time to go.
For
it’s the foyer of preparation….. with Mother’s
Guidance and teaching and support…how long I have awaited her teachings! I need a Mother God[dess] on Earth. As
I, as black sheep, have broken, shaken, destroyed and closed down….my Mother’s
House was always standing in the gale to shelter me from the storm.
It
hasn’t been my time to leave my Mother’s House….but when I do…I will turn and take
one last look back….at my Mother in her House…and know that God always loved me
through Her.
<Sigh>
and these are my thoughts, once again, in my Mother’s House…..
Love,
Daughter
2002
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And the years to
come …
In My Mother’s House
NEVER THE
END
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