OUR MOTHERS, OURSELVES--

This weekend is Mother's Day and we're bound to be thinking about the person who mothered us.  You know about my mother; she's the Nina Naomi I dedicate this blog to. Her memory is alive in me, and I talk to her often.  Since her death in 2005 I've had to provide her responses too.  It's not a fraught relationship.  Before she died, I told her, "Mom, we have no issues."  

And of course, many of us are mothering someone ourselves.  Before my son died too young, he said, "Mom, no son ever loved a mother more than I love you."  My most precious gift.  And I had issues aplenty with that headstrong boy.  But from boyhood he was quick to give and forgive.  I think my daughter's sons are the same with her. 

A writer in the New York Times (Jancee Dunn) asked readers to share moments when their moms were right. This response resonates:

After my first child was born, my mother put her hand on my arm and said, "Honey, you have breathed your last free breath."  And she laughed--in a kind, not a bitter, way.  Her words meant that I was now to know love so consuming that every second of the rest of my life would be spent in fear of loss.  I feel connected to her knowing that we have shared this deep and meaningful terror.  Shannon Kilgore

I don't know how young we are when we learn the fear of loss.  Some younger than others.  The children of Ukraine are learning too soon.  For the mothers of all those murdered in America the terror comes true.  Such is life, so far, in this 21st century.  

But what else is important in this mother's advice?  She said it "in a kind, not a bitter, way."  That's what mothers do.  They let us know about the world, how it will be for us.  They don't do it harshly.  They want us to be kind and not bitter too.  They know that only great love gives rise to great fear, and they want great love for their children. 

Another reader response brings solace: 

I once asked my mom, "What am I ever going to do when you are gone?"  She said, "Exactly what you're doing now."  I was startled by the simplicity.  In a few words, she let me know that life would go on and I would be fine.  Mary Ellen Collins

When I feared losing my own mother, she said to me, "I had the best mom in the world, your grandma, and I've done just fine."  I knew she was right, on both counts. 

This graduation/Mother's Day weekend I hope your heart is where it needs to be.  That whatever our history we have found love and peace.  And if we need to give or forgive, we can do that too.  In love, 

Nina Naomi 

   

A BIT OF VERSE BY NINA NAOMI

 

Wondering is in our nature.

Or is it wandering?

Maybe floundering is in our nature.

Or blundering.

Childlike we wonder and wander, flounder and blunder.

Oh, that's a good way to be.

Don't be afraid,

Be curious.  

                                      by nina naomi

 

When I was a child my mother said,

"You are beautiful, you are smart.

Your hair is soft, your lips are full. 

You are loved."

I believed her then, I believe her now.

She is the gift from God to me.  

Write it, know it:  Gifts from God last forever.  

               by nina naomi

 

 

  

WHO HAVE YOU BEEN MISSING?

Who have you been missing most during this pandemic?  I've been missing my mom, been wanting her advice. This is bad because she's been gone for 15 years.  She's the Nina Naomi this blog is in memory of.  I love being her, just for this bit of my life, this on-line persona.  I know some of us dread turning into our parents but, for the most part, I'm fine with it.  Do you have a role model whose advice you would welcome?  On dealing with isolation, limited options, money, health and child worries?  Or just plain change?

We've got a running joke in our family--"What would Fauci do?"  You know, the doctor in the White House Coronavirus briefings.  Would Dr. Fauci recommend the beach rental house?  And on what conditions?  Would he approve the college student's meal delivery job?  Does he wipe down those plastic clam-shells that the grocery deli comes in?  

Maybe my mom wasn't my lodestar consistently when she was alive. Not when I was young and going full force. I didn't always want advice.  Got enough of that at work.  Maybe you too.  But as I was ruminating on what she would tell me if she were alive, I realized:  the role model is there.  Her last years were isolated, she and my dad retirees in a rented condo at the beach, no in-town relatives, having to wait for family to show up.  World-travelers (I have a picture of her on a camel) became stay-at-homes.  Party-givers became TV watchers.  They found a way--because of their age--to accept an unknown future.  

So what did she do when her world changed? She taught herself how to quilt.  She entered local craft competitions and once even won a ribbon.  She read voraciously, especially American history.  She sent cards in her clear, even handwriting, an old-fashioned cursive.  She went shelling on the beach and organized her treasures in interesting ways, before the term shelfie was coined.  She planted hostas in the shade and gardenias along the porch.  She labelled photos with enough information so that no ancestor would disappear on her watch.  So many parallels between our coping and hers.

She would tell me, and all of us, that we're doing just fine.  That isolation and health problems, even death, can come at any time to anyone and we are made resilient.  Then we would discuss that there are tools to help with depression, grief, fear and loss:  friends, therapists, medication, God, nature, children, pets, hope, sleep, walks, a good cry, healthy mourning, books, the Psalms . . . .  And I would be helped.  I hope you too.  In peace, Nina Naomi