She remains unchanged; forever 23, red hair, deep green eyes, still and timeless. The portrait of my mother speaks to me of another time when dreams were still possible. My grandmother commissioned it the year before Mom married Dad. Wish I could have known her then.
I barely remember if she told me the details of her life at that time. I have scrapbooks and photo albums which leave the questions unanswered. It's not fair.
In six year's time, I will be the age she was when she died. Those details are forever in my heart. I won't tell you, other than it was awful and unnatural and chaotic and merciful.
We may be alike; I have an appreciation for music and fine art. I love color in my home and garden.
My house will always have at least one dog and there is nothing more perfect than chocolate.
She knew the importance of friendship and secrets. I have a handful of "besties" with whom I am completely devoid of judgment.
I am missing her. Hoping she will come to me in my dreams, I talk to her portrait. When I am home at her gravesite, the conversation is always fraught with sadness, but my mood as I gaze at her likeness is light and joyful. Thankful? Maybe.
Or perhaps it is guilt. Her dreams vanished when I came along. She self sacrificed out of respect for Dad. Perhaps it was the proper thing or maybe the expected lifestyle. In 1956, 2.8 children were the norm. In 1959, we had reached 2.0 and I don't know how to explain the omission of the eight-tenths of a child. Maybe that's where the family dog(s) came in.
She was not happy parenting; she didn't know how. Dr. Spock was her go-to reference and if the pages in that book couldn't address the crisis, Grandma was right next door. Once my brother was adopted (as it had been with me), that sage advice didn't apply as frequently as Mom had been an only child.
Nature vs. nurture... .an uncomfortable internal dialogue. I could argue either side. Upbringing certainly helped to mold me. Nature, on the other hand, eludes all current quests. Although,
on this point, I have had recent insight by way of messages from beyond, but that's another story.
If you follow my blogs, you will conclude that I am in flux. The spirituality which flows from those who channel my connectivity from the universe to my soul has me disquieted. Don't misunderstand me.
I am not questioning. I am seeking validation…that which defines me as having purpose.
Where is the logic behind my being the daughter to this particular woman? Whose decision was it?
Did the decision lay within the wisdom of the universe? Was it predestined?
The answers will not be forthcoming. It is unimportant.
Her portrait honors the woman she wanted to be. I see it in her eyes. I see it in the shyness of her smile and the softness of her shoulders. She aspired, she hoped, she dreamed. Her "fork in the road" came abruptly. Her purpose was redefined. Her dreams vanquished.
The next time I pause to gaze upon it, I will whisper "Thank you. It is because of you, that I still have time to realize mine."
No comments:
Post a Comment