To My Grown-Up Mom

Dear Reader,

I must admit that Tuesday’s posts “Moments in Thyme” by Joyce have been getting me thinking. Thinking about how my mother reflects back at me when I look in the mirror these days. Then watching my grandmother reflect back at me when I look at my mom, well, that’s done something to me.

I wonder how fast it will go, since I already hear myself saying the things my mom said to me.

I decided that in the hustle and bustle of a week in the life of a diva, that I would take one day and dedicate it to my mom. But, it’s not JUST my mom, you see. It’s every mom. You’ll see what I mean…

Dear Mom,

Remember that poem you used to have taped to the fridge? (I’m pretty sure it was taped.) Anyway, I remember it on a creamy colored paper. It was probably one of the first things I learned to read:

To My Grown-Up Son or Daughter

by Alice E. Chase

My hands were busy through the day,
I didn’t have much time to play
The little games you asked me to,
I didn’t have much time for you.

I’d wash your clothes; I’d sew and cook,
But when you’d bring your picture book
And ask me, please, to share your fun,
I’d say, “A little later, hon.”

I’d tuck you in all safe at night,
And hear your prayers, turn out the light,
Then tiptoe softly to the door,
I wish I’d stayed a minute more.

For life is short, and years rush past,
A little boy grows up so fast,
No longer is he at your side,
His precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,
There are no children’s games to play,
No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear,
That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands once busy, now lie still,
The days are long and hard to fill,
I wish I could go back and do,
The little things you asked me to.

It would be impossible for me to identify the impact that thing had on my life. I just printed it off and realized it would be a good idea for me to stick it on my own fridge with the hope that it infiltrates a message in the minds of my own children.

I don’t always take or make the time to connect with you. I don’t always let you know how I’m doing or phone to find out what’s new in your neck of the woods. But today I was feeling like it’s about time I do something to correct that and this poem came to mind, so I thought I’d share it again.

I figure the message might inspire a few other women in this community to reach out to their moms, too, so I decided to write this letter here.

I took some poetic liberties to express a few thoughts. Here’s hoping the message reaches you smiling.

To My Grown-Up Mom

Your hands were busy through the day
You didn’t have much time to play.
The little things I’d ask of you,
You took the time to see, to do…

You washed my clothes, you’d sew and cook.
(The best damn Halloween costumes that town had ever seen, I might add!)
And when I’d bring my picture book,
your dark, thick outlines and perfect strokes had me mesmerized.

You tucked me in, all safe at night.
Ran your fingers across my temple ’til my eyes shut tight.
I do the same for Mika, now.
An inherited maternal signature passed on somehow.

I wonder, sometimes, if life is really as short as we think it is.
I watch the years rush past and don’t have all the answers, yet.
But time brings wisdom, wrinkles,
and opportunities to learn.

I grew out of goodnight kisses and picture books.
I can’t hear you creaking across the floor
when I sleep, anymore.
No fingers on my temple when I’m tired.

My hands are pretty busy, now.
Yours are, too.
We can’t go back and do
the things we used to do.

But in this moment
I can stop and thank you
for your water-soaked raisin fingers
(after doing another stack of dishes!)

I can thank you for the Halloween costumes
and picture books,
the temple rubs
and time spent investing in love.

I know sometimes it probably wasn’t easy
to take and make the time, but every moment counted
and I wanted you to know
I couldn’t have done it without you.

Thanks, Mom.

Yours,

Tera