Mother’s Day

At the moment I don’t remember being in my mother’s womb.  I cared for women who were pregnant and later delivered babies and watched them care for their children.  It’s a miracle really.  All spiritual and emotional.  Like Michelanagelo’s Pieta in Rome. Perhaps too moving for words.  The mystery of God creating life with in.  

When Freud said Women had penis envy, Karen Horney, the early female analyst countered, ‘no Signmond, men have womb envy.”

My first real memory of my mother is at my grandmother’s a baby child being brought into the kitchen warmth. Next it’s being held. I remember that faced with strangers I’d cower between my mothers legs under her long skirt. I remember trusting my mom. She was my safety.  I’d crawl into bed as a child and cuddle against my mom for safety. She’d check me and tuck me in before I fell asleep.  I was blessed as a child to know my mother’s bountiful love. I loved the grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup at lunch. I loved the tenting and camping. I loved her coming out to my games and wanting to know how school was. My childhood was blessed by mom.  She had her garden and taught me to grow marigolds.  Countless memories of her awesome love are there to regale me.  

Often when we are so depended on someone we need to make so much effort to pull away. I turned my back on my mom when I as an adolescent , the rebellious teen who didn’t need ‘ adult’s.  Later when that phase was done she’d proudly be there as I accepted diplomas and awards.  When I’d be sick she’d come too bringing pasta and tomato sauce. Comfort food.  I could always count on her to be happy to hear from me, concerned and caring.  I was always welcome home and blessed to have such a loving Christian mother.

Laura has three children and grandchildren. I’m made her camping toast bacon and scrambled eggs like my dad used to make camping. Laura said it was delicious. I liked the elegant paper plates.