A Mother Can Write About LIfe

Mother’s Day is next Sunday.  I think of a lot of mothers, including my own, during this national holiday.  When I taught elementary kids, it was something I felt like I had to start a month ahead, so the kids didn’t rush through the project and regret it when they handed the gift/card to their mothers.

Usually, I’m thinking months ahead about my mom.  I want to get her something to make her smile, surprise her or make her cry, (In a good way).  I know, to her, the gift itself isn’t the important thing.  She appreciates anything with a thought of her.  

This Mother’s Day will be one of the rare times I won’t be there to share the day or weekend with her.  It’s another thing she doesn’t make a big deal about.  She doesn’t call and say, “Are you coming up for Mother’s Day?”  or “What are we going to do for Mother’s Day?”  

I want to share a poem she wrote months ago.  I think it’s beautiful.  My mom is 88 years old.  She’s still writing poetry.  If you’d have asked me, when I was 30, if I thought my mom was a writer?  I’d have doubted it.  When she references the “Bob Tree” it’s a tree that was planted, in her yard in St. Ignace, in memory of my brother, Bob.  Her son, Bob, died in 1990.

Mom, Walking in the Shade of the Bob Tree,
Toward Her Home



  My Autumn   
                    by Paula Cronan  
                               Fall-2013


Some days I feel like the Bob Tree.
Anchored strong,
with purpose ahead.

Today?
I feel my leaves are shedding.
Each a tear, blowing in grief.
Only to be caught again by the wind.
Tossed for a moment in joy of living.

Where am I?
What am I doing, as my days slowly approach the unknown,
that lies ahead?

Will it be illness with dependency on those I love,
who are hard pressed to keep up with the world,
as it picks up speed?

My prayer is that I will go gently.
As a leaf bedded down in the gently falling snow.

And I will somehow, some way
spring to eternal life.

Take my hand, 
come into my heart and lead me through;
Tears of grief
Gratitude
Joy.

Tumbling together in this turmoil of life.


Mom's Backyard,
 in Winter




  

Comments

Post a Comment

Love to hear from my readers!

Popular posts from this blog

Handy in Bautzen

Image
HAPPY NEW YEAR (Thank you ahead for reading) I’ve just returned from travel to Germany. My son Holden lives in Berlin and welcomed me for a visit before the holiday. I want to share one of my experiences. Going through this helped me see I’m calmer and more grounded.  I Enjoy the Train Rides in Germany Holden and I traveled two different times on regional trains for his Christmas performances. One was in Bautzen and the other in Zittow. They’re considered Saxony regions of East Germany.They border the Czech republic. It makes them very interesting. More rural areas. The people are less likely to speak English. I’m amazed at how much they do speak compared to my ability to speak German, though.  One day while Holden was working (while in Bautzen) I decided to wander the Christmas Market (Weinachtmarkt) and go to a local museum. I already saw one of his early performances and the evening performance was sold out.  One of my favorite things to do in is walk with "Some"...
Read more

I'm Not Sick, I'm Dying

Image
Ever since my son-in-law said death was like birth it has spun around in my head bouncing back and forth. To me it seemed like the exact opposite. Until I looked at it from an illness view-point it felt like the comparison wasn’t accurate. My mom is at the end of her life. She’s passing and she is not ill. Her body is done and her mind has wrapped itself around the facts. She said “I’m done” last week. Not her being done with curing an illness, getting better and living another ten years. Done with treating this time in her life as an illness and going from emergency room, back home and soon to emergency room again. Blood draws, X-rays, Infusions, urine samples new meds, new advice for her and her caregivers. She asked her doctor to be referred to Hospice. She asked more than once. More than one nurse, doctor, social worker. She shouldn’t have to voice this wish of hers. Her body resonates “I’m passing on”. Her every movement, pain, fatigue, difficulties with everything.   She’s wa...
Read more

From Here...Where?

Image
Brevort Lake I’ve written about transitions before. I’ve had some rocky adjustments, as with anyone, they’re just included in living our lives.   This latest transition in our government shot up warning flags for me. Seeing this new president as a leader feels like a threat to my safety and to those I love. I ought to be pretty good at transitions. I taught first grade for over three decades. Every calendar year I had a new crew of children. Rarely was I able to pick a student to be in my class. There were new administrators, new school boards, new curriculums. I adjusted. It was a job I loved. Each event in my children’s lives brought transition practice. I had to succeed power to them as they grew and developed. It was a never-ending evolution in my thinking. It started day one. My ability to transition broadened. Well…until my husband, Harry died. This transition took years to navigate. No prior experience seemed to help me and at the time it was a huge stretch to trust others ...
Read more