Still Singing

May 2021
A Mother’s Day Tribute for My Mom

I wrote the poem below for my mom, Ellie, in 2007. It captures her spirit and also touches upon the essence of a mother and child relationship. I thought that others would be able to relate to its universal themes. So much of who we are grows out of the foundation that our mothers offered us. We continue to build our lives upon that nurturing ground, and then hopefully develop it further for ourselves and our children.

I feel fortunate that both my parents are living long good lives. During this pandemic, I’ve come to realize that none of us have much time left. Truly, we don’t know how much longer we will be alive. Life passes faster and is more fragile than we think. And so I find myself cherishing simple mundane things. For example, when I talk with my parents now, previously boring minutiae feels precious. Each conversation just as ordinary as before, but now more poignant and loving.

I offer this post as a heartfelt blessing and prayer for my mom. For those who miss their mom. For anyone who mothers. My mother teaches me how to persist and thrive in the face of great hardship. (She would not want me to mention anything about hardship.) So let me assure you instead, that she is managing quite fine, with things that I hope I don’t live long enough to encounter. She still finds beauty and collects joy from simple excursions. (I will not speak about this year’s absence of vegetable plants; the things that fall one by one just out of our reach.) Just know instead about the humble grace, which allows her to tend her yard with its drifting woods. Know that she still plants hope with flowers.

My mother is naturally gifted with a beautiful, powerful voice. But instead of singing on Broadway, she sang us to sleep. Instead of seeking fame, her voice brought pleasure to those standing next to her. In the end, the simple things are what live on in our hearts. They matter most. During our last phone call, I hear about my mother singing on Zoom for a religious service. Tears well up in gratitude. My mom is my hero. She is here. She is still singing!

My mother about to read me a story and sing me to sleep. She is about 25 years old.

This is a drawing that I made in 2019 that illustrates the landscape of myself arising out of the land of my mother. My mountains are still in a process of creation. They arise out from the more settled water and trees of my mother; the mothering aspects of myself.

My mom with her youngest granddaughter, my niece Jordan

Still Singing

My mother loves
babies and children,
pansies and lupine,
beaches with their chests full
of joyful shells and drifting woods,
earth’s cornucopia of artistic creation.

She works enough for five
with one broken body
and a spirit that never surrenders
duty.
Children fed.
Messes cleaned straight.
Holidays entertained.
Gardens planted.

Fueled by loyal determination
and a bird’s deliberate song,
she welcomes each rising dawn
ready to go – find the bargain of a lifetime.
She gives you (and wants your) details:
who goes where with whom,
what they eat, buy, or view,
the story of any quaint place passing by
when driving somewhere to come here.

My essence abides in the shadow of her life,
where my valleys roam up her mountain
and my mountains drift back to her valley.
An ebb and flow of space does not separate
mother from daughter
mountain from valley
beach from shore.
Each relies on the other for its identity.
Like a stream followed back to its source,
we owe our lives to an unconditional sacrifice
of mothers and earth.

Winter bleeds her sorrows into spring.
When abandoned
my mother never gives up
hope.
All that she loves return to her.
All whom she loves come
Home.

My mom with my sister Lori.

This picture of my mom and myself was taken the last time that I saw her in December 2019. Unfortunately, due to Covid-19, I haven’t seen her in a long time. We have plans to visit soon.

I dedicated this website to my parents. You can read about that here: Website Dedication
I wrote about the art piece that accompanies this poem on Instagram
For those not on Instagram, I have compiled my posts here: The Art of the Inner Life
Here is the link to A Kind Mothering Ground post on my website.