A Mother's Day Story

She simply said, "If you ever want to talk about what's going on with you, you can talk to me."

It's one of those moments that etch a sweet place in the mind forever.

I was 17, that tender age when any sort of negative experience regarding the opposite gender could be devastating. But this devastation was taken to new limits. In my heart anyway.

You see, I really liked Isabel. She was a foreign exchange student who said that she could see the true me, and that I was different than others she had met. I was "special" to her.

Since "specialness," young love and foreign exchange students don't stick around forever, there came a time when I had to say goodbye to Isabel. For this youthful, innocent heart, it was the hardest thing to do. I was heartbroken.

And so - as 17-year-olds may tend to do - I moped. I took moping to a whole new level. Dragging my feet, being silent, showing very little initiative for anything. I didn't know what to do with myself. I would follow my mom around, hoping perhaps that she would notice my heartbreak and do something about it. We weren't the most expressive family, and we rarely talked about emotions. In fact, I used to think crying merely meant your head pounded and your throat felt all hot and burning.

This, mostly because I would hold my breath from the desire to squelch the tears.

But on this certain summer day, as my mom attended to some task about the house, I would find myself following her all around. As she took care of some laundry or the like in her room, I simply climbed up onto the end of the bed and just laid there.

Silent.

Sad.

Hoping to be noticed.

And then she said it. "If you ever want to talk about what's going on with you, you can talk to me."

Tears.

An opened door. It's what I needed. The permission to be human, to be hurting, to be heard.

I believe I needed the door to be opened more than I needed to walk through it.

But my mother opened that door, as mothers do. Allowing me in, and allowing me to open up.

Here is to all the mothers who nurture their young, giving an unconditional love that sweetly invites the heart to come out - to be seen, heard and experienced.


James Anthony Ellis is a writer living in San Diego. He can be reached at www.LegacyProductions.org.

My Momma Will Walk Again

I wrote this in February 2013 prior to my mother's passing when she was still bed-ridden. She passed in July 2014, into the freedom beyond the physical. 

I silently watch as my mother rests in her bed

Made to soothe and comfort, and lift her when need be
It makes it easier on her hip and her head

It makes it easier on her suffering knees

I quietly watch in agony believing she's never coming back
I find no words to speak, there's no place to hide
Invisible enemies of the past I plan to attack
Then surrender to the loss and the longing inside

I know it's not the start
I pray it's not the end
In dream-scapes and within my heart
My momma will walk again

My mother will stand up and walk once more
She'll effortlessly glide from room to room
She'll walk towards and then out that front door
She'll marvel again at the stars, the Sun, the Moon

She may even skip or dance or run for a bit
She'll be able to plant flowers in her own garden
Then … in its splendor … simply kneel down and sit
Yes, my momma will walk again

I know it's not the start
I pray it's not the end
In dream-scapes and within heaven's heart
My momma will walk again
My momma will walk again

Beyond the polarities of the loss and the win
Beyond the cruelties of sickness and sin
Beyond the conversations we never did begin

Beyond the missed celebrations that should have been

Beyond the pain that all of us are in

In the peace and love found only within
In God's sweet embrace of an eternal heaven
In a timeless dream-state I long to live in
My momma will walk again
My momma will walk again
My momma will walk again

 


Jim Ellis and his writings can be found here:  http://legacyproductions.org/products/