Tag Archives: mother

ON THE WINGS OF MY HABITS

Posted on by
8

IMG_5779This morning I woke to snow again.  I asked my Sheba if there’s a reason for me to get out of bed.  She licked my face and said, ‘Come on! Play with me!’   So how can I say no?  I got out of bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth and fixed my bed head.

I put the kettle on and went downstairs to turn on the grow light for my seedlings.  It’s all routine now, part of my repertoire.  The water is boiled.  I fix my lemon water with a tad of honey.  I take my medications.  I stretch this way and that way, warming up for my qigong routine.  Soon my languidness and what’s there to get up for attitude are gone.  And I’m into my day.

Snow continues to fall in soft fluffy flakes into the afternoon.  That’s how it is IMG_0558sometimes.  Into your life some snow must fall.  I get my cup of tea and wrap myself in my Hudson’s Bay blanket. What a good time to read a bit of Joan Hammersmith’s The Raw Bold Truth.  I’m ready to read it now, though I am not quite ready to face all my own raw truth.  Some day, some day I will.

I made plans to take my mother out for coffee in the afternoon.  I have my tax return to mail and a prescription to pick up.  It will be good for both of us to get out.  I have some of my best times with my mother. She is the wisest and strongest woman that I know.  I am lucky to be her daughter.

Days can start out on a dreary note.  But we can choose how it can go.  My day has been great.  I am glad that I have developed habits that have enabled me to fly despite the inclement weather.  How has your day gone?

COFFEE WITH MY MOTHER

Posted on by
Reply

26021_380506100886_3080317_n

What really matters to me is that I am able to give back to my mother what she has given to me….love and attention.  So when she tells me that she is missing her sister and that she is feeling so not all right and could I take her out for coffee, it is my pleasure to do so.

I had been wondering how she would deal with my auntie’s death.  Even though they were separated by many miles, they spoke frequently on the telephone up to 2 weeks before my auntie’s death.  By then she was not herself anymore.  She was sometimes confused and angry, hitting and scratching at my cousins, too weak to speak with my mother.  But she died peacefully at home.

My mother was a bit surprised by her own grief.  She felt a bit ashamed of her ‘weakness’.  She said that all her siblings were like that.  My uncles all cried unabashedly at the funeral.  When someone said that they shouldn’t be crying because my aunt was, after all 93, they cried all the harder.  So that’s my mother’s side of the family.  They lived in each others’ hearts.

My coffee times with my mother are somewhat akin to Tuesdays with Morrie.  It’s been a long time since I have read the book, but I remember that those Tuesdays were filled with love, communication and acceptance.  That’s how I feel about my time I spent with my mother.  She is a great storyteller and a very wise woman despite her lack of formal education.  I am who I am because of my mother.  And it is a wonderful thing.