Love and what it does. It makes you wonder, doesn't it, this quality called love. You can see it. You can feel it. It is imprinted and it is nearly impossible for it to loose its grip. When a mother is possessed by love she becomes so much more than her self. She becomes connected to life itself, to the earth, to the universe and its force to grow, defend, nurture, go on. It causes you to move mountains, to survive with little sleep, to give up so much. You do it gladly. You do it because you must. This force called love is the fuel, the glue, the reason and the meaning to it all.
It is essential to survival. And having reminders of those we love and who loved us around us restores us. We can remember how that love helped us, lifted us and made it possible to make it when we had confusion, sorrow or difficulties. I see Sara's reminders of her Grammy in her house. There is the beautiful white Buddha that used to sit on my mothers self, the mug that is decorated with wisteria mixed in with her hand made ceramics and the white metal salad bowl with mushrooms drawn in black on its outside from the 1970s held on the top shelf waiting for another salad. These things are incorporated into her daily life. And for me, it may be true for her too, each time I see that wisteria mug I think, "oh mom, you meant so much to Sara. Mom, you recognized her and connected in your own special way." Isn't it so lovely to have these things for those thoughts to appear.
They are "just things" but can mean so much to bring that quality of love alive, and to feel and examine what it does. It is a salve that soothes. It is the voice that tells me to "just weave the nest". It is the gentle kindness and sweetness of a tender look when her baby is in her arms and the fierce force of maternal labor. We must honor our mothers and how they too were weaving the nest the best they could and creating the tender foundation for our lives as women. So many things I respect about my mother and so happy for the wisteria mug and oh that 1970s bowl. I have different associations than my daughter does when I view and touch these things. Her love memories are dear to her and unique in her mind. Of the salad bowl, mine are of Woodside, my horses, being a teenager, going to college, coming home to see mom and dad. The Buddha reminds me of the pure sincerity of my mother and her spirituality. She had a very loving and compassionate nature and an extremely intelligent mind. She sought understanding about this life and herself with meditation, study, reading and compassionate action. And it seems the wisteria mug mostly reminds me of mom's later days when she lived in Woodside Terraces in her apartment. I would visit often and take her grocery shopping or other errands or we would sit at her table with tea. Always on that table would be a SF Chronicle, the crossword, notes for her writings, crumbs of toast and maybe a spot of peanut butter that I could see. Other reminders of my mom.
A wave of emotion, eyes full of tears as I think of her love. I remember that when she died, twelve years after my fabulous father passed I realized that the two people that loved, accepted and knew me so very deeply were gone. It was a void that would never be filled again except now by me with what I was to do with it. I reflect now on that void I felt and see so much has filled in due to life and love continuing on. The love I have for my daughters, the memories of my dear parents, the love of my husband and the miraculous experiences of living life have filled it in. I think this is aging, the so much we can remember, the variety of lessons we learned and those that still need to be learned. They are carried always with us.
And now, Freyja, my granddaughter, the adventure of love has begun for you. I hope that you will have memories of me, your Bubbles that are framed with love. I want to be in your life and watch you grow. I want to see who you are and watch the love of Sara and Ian capture your spirit and set it free so you can be you. And the cycle will go on. You too one day will be a grandmother with a babe in your arms. I love you Freyja. I love you so very, very, very much. You have snuggled down into my heart forever and ever more...
Here is my first selfie with Freyja. We are snuggled together in my bed while I write this blog post and her momma and daddy sleep. So precious to write of love and memories with her on my chest and heart. Because times are different my mother never made a selfie....life always changing....
It is essential to survival. And having reminders of those we love and who loved us around us restores us. We can remember how that love helped us, lifted us and made it possible to make it when we had confusion, sorrow or difficulties. I see Sara's reminders of her Grammy in her house. There is the beautiful white Buddha that used to sit on my mothers self, the mug that is decorated with wisteria mixed in with her hand made ceramics and the white metal salad bowl with mushrooms drawn in black on its outside from the 1970s held on the top shelf waiting for another salad. These things are incorporated into her daily life. And for me, it may be true for her too, each time I see that wisteria mug I think, "oh mom, you meant so much to Sara. Mom, you recognized her and connected in your own special way." Isn't it so lovely to have these things for those thoughts to appear.
They are "just things" but can mean so much to bring that quality of love alive, and to feel and examine what it does. It is a salve that soothes. It is the voice that tells me to "just weave the nest". It is the gentle kindness and sweetness of a tender look when her baby is in her arms and the fierce force of maternal labor. We must honor our mothers and how they too were weaving the nest the best they could and creating the tender foundation for our lives as women. So many things I respect about my mother and so happy for the wisteria mug and oh that 1970s bowl. I have different associations than my daughter does when I view and touch these things. Her love memories are dear to her and unique in her mind. Of the salad bowl, mine are of Woodside, my horses, being a teenager, going to college, coming home to see mom and dad. The Buddha reminds me of the pure sincerity of my mother and her spirituality. She had a very loving and compassionate nature and an extremely intelligent mind. She sought understanding about this life and herself with meditation, study, reading and compassionate action. And it seems the wisteria mug mostly reminds me of mom's later days when she lived in Woodside Terraces in her apartment. I would visit often and take her grocery shopping or other errands or we would sit at her table with tea. Always on that table would be a SF Chronicle, the crossword, notes for her writings, crumbs of toast and maybe a spot of peanut butter that I could see. Other reminders of my mom.
A wave of emotion, eyes full of tears as I think of her love. I remember that when she died, twelve years after my fabulous father passed I realized that the two people that loved, accepted and knew me so very deeply were gone. It was a void that would never be filled again except now by me with what I was to do with it. I reflect now on that void I felt and see so much has filled in due to life and love continuing on. The love I have for my daughters, the memories of my dear parents, the love of my husband and the miraculous experiences of living life have filled it in. I think this is aging, the so much we can remember, the variety of lessons we learned and those that still need to be learned. They are carried always with us.
And now, Freyja, my granddaughter, the adventure of love has begun for you. I hope that you will have memories of me, your Bubbles that are framed with love. I want to be in your life and watch you grow. I want to see who you are and watch the love of Sara and Ian capture your spirit and set it free so you can be you. And the cycle will go on. You too one day will be a grandmother with a babe in your arms. I love you Freyja. I love you so very, very, very much. You have snuggled down into my heart forever and ever more...
Here is my first selfie with Freyja. We are snuggled together in my bed while I write this blog post and her momma and daddy sleep. So precious to write of love and memories with her on my chest and heart. Because times are different my mother never made a selfie....life always changing....
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