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| Photographs and Memories |
by Dr. Laurie Davis Johnson, LPC
Backward Clocks & Forward Dreams...
There's a reason they don't tell you.
There's a reason we're not warned.
That every special milestone
Is a step toward miles from home.
Baby takes First steps
Wobbling in glory.
A triumph we record
with pride and celebration.
But what they shelter us from knowing,
What they hush when we walk in,
Is that every First involves a Last.
Every milestone creates a Path
another mile from home.
The First time Baby
sleeps through the night
is a poignant independence.
It marks a bashful beginning
of a march toward a world
we will not share.
The First step,
is a mark of the Last time
we are Baby's transport.
The First tooth,
foreshadows the Last time
we nurse in midnight bliss.
The First word uttered
ends our precious private language
that needed
no words.
The First day at school
is the end of our beautiful
Island of affection.
Their First kiss signals
the last of dolls and pirates and dreams of ponies.
The First dance
Is a waltz away from our arms
to those who will hold them next
a Heatbreaker or Beloved
We can only watch from the sideline.
A mother loves and launches,
A mother loves and lingers.
It is her sweet tribulation
to realize
Each First is paid in Lasts.
Each dawn will bring a sunset.
Each Good-bye a wider span.
Each First a Last.
Each Entry door an Exit.
Each giggle will fade in an echo.
Each hurried phone call~ "touching base" -- will
conclude with a silence
Longer than the conversations.
As it should, I suppose.
For moms are merely Midwives
to our children's dreams and futures.
We were there to dawn the rising sun.
There to catch the falling child.
There to take the pictures,
then to step aside.
There to offer our soft shoulder
then to stand afar.
Careful not to intrude
Or impose
Or assume
Or assign
Ourselves the right to be remembered.
The right to be included.
We are the Memory keepers.
We are the Clean up crew.
We are the ones
Who invite the Firsts
and wait in the wings
for whatever our child may need.
We are also the ones
brave enough to say No,
when our intuition stirs.
We are also the ones
brave enough to say No,
when our intuition stirs.
One day
we must find comfort
In the dust of our son's trail
or
The mist of our daughter's voyage
that carries our child away
and beckons us to stay
Where laughter once filled
Afternoons
And whispered musing filled the night.
We are the guardians of Yesterday
In a Land that love forgets;
It can, you know.
But we're not told.
We're not forewarned.
For that would be crueler even than the facts.
The fact is a mother's heart
ticks backward in a world
that rushes forward...
Mothers' hearts were made to hold
The sleeping babe,
The fussy child,
The heartsick teen,
The college laundry
The Bride's shopping bags
or the Groom's car keys.
And afterwards,
We are left
To hold
the splinters of our existence--
the splinters of our existence--
the shards of our own heart
when Time arrives for us
to see
for the First time
for the First time
a mother's life
Is spent driving a child to adulthood
while waiting a minimal millennia
in pickup lines and parking lots
For a wave or eyes that roll,
Whatever the mood or circumstance.
We can not help but hold
them in our glance
And wish for one more talk.
The mother Dance
is delicate
Where once our son or daughter rode our toes
they grow to step upon them boldly.
It is a passage that they need,
But one that hurts our heart.
And so we learn to step
Way back.
We learn to disappear.
We learn to love
Discretely
out of sight till needed.
Blaming our tears on onions
and
and
Swallowing our fears.
Out of earshot,
Out of pocket,
Out of the way.
In the great Back Seat
Of the universe,
In the great Back Row
Of our children's lives...
Clapping loudest
And taking pictures
For the album
That will be our
Consolation prize
When stares and glares and lectures come,
from the child who blossomed overnight
Into a ice tongued beauty
Or a sullen antagonist.
Out of the blue
puberty steals our child
and sentences us to
be the bane of their existence.
And items on our Bucket List we planned together
are poured out unheeded and unneeded
by the Teen who took our child.
We watch the picnics and the plans
cast carelessly away.
The Bucket now feels empty
Like our lap and wrapping arms.
Round Two of motherhood
begins.
Full of fear for all we dread.
For never more
can you pretend
To have the power to protect
Your child
Yourself
Your beautiful life
from Bullies or beasts
Or broken hearts.
Nor can you dodge
the bayonets
that pierce your soul
from your hurting son or daughter,
Just as yours once cut your mother...
Steel your will
But not your heart,
You're needed more than ever.
The jungle gym gives way
To a jungle of tween angst.
And though you'll feel abandoned
Your grit and grace are needed
More now
Than ever, ever, ever before.
That's when the Storm begins to brew
the first of many tempests.
The First of many from the child
who once delighted in your every breath.
The one who stuck closer than your shadow.
The one who nearly deafened you
with constant elbow pulls.
Look, Mama! Look!
Watch me, Mama watch!
Did you see, Mama?
Did you see me?
Are you watching, Mama?
Watch!
These beautiful days give way.
These precious days slip away
like a cotton candy sunrise.
And we can miss its passing.
We can miss the passage
from childhood to young adult
So busy buying shoes and shorts
When we needed
was to buy Time...
was to buy Time...
Because the stormy season comes
when we ache in deafening silence
hearing
I'm in here, you can't come in...
Mom, it's not your business.
Mom, get off my back.
Mom, could you leave now?
Mom, leave me alone.
Mom, not now.
But, it will feel and seem more like
Mom, not now,
Not ever.
The First of that
Is hell to take.
The First time you're told to leave.
It makes you slowly realize
The bittersweet motherhood
Truth.
We are the keepers of the clock,
the camera and the calendar,
the camera and the calendar,
for all the years of childhood.
Then overnight,
a woman's born
where once stood your gangling daughter.
Overnight a man appears
where once was peachfuzz, a puppy and pizza.
And suddenly life changes.
It takes your breath away.
And if you're not quite careful,
Your heart will shatter silently
And your soul may slip beneath the waves.
For motherhood is
a different name
for Valor.
The kind that's rarely noticed.
The kind that loves and launches,
That lingers and languishes in silence.
It is Love beyond all measure.
The kind that smiles
Even when her heart is aching.
That bites her tongue
even when bitten
by an Adolescent smug.
That returns a smile
to the coldest smirk.
That leaves
when others get to stay.
That's shuttled to the side
Like a once loved teddy bear
Shoved in the closet or
Left under the bed.
We wait in the shadows and pray
for the grace to be stronger
than any brute force.
To be gentle,
Even when shattered like glass.
Mothering
Means one release after another
with the weakening
Hope that
Life will provide us Something
For all
that Love
requires us
to let go...
Yet a mother never let's go.
We hold our child's hand
from childbirth
to kindergarten,
to new classrooms
and parties
and down long corridors
for shots and reports
and dreaded recitals
until
that dreadful day
we're not to be seen hand in hand anymore.
When our ready hand is spurned
like a broken abandoned toy.
A difficult day, that one...
We mothers hold our children's heart,
from the first flutter of his or her heartbeat
Til the last breath we take on this planet.
And even then,
when next we breathe
in Paradise
Our first thoughts will be,
How is my beloved child?
No matter how old they may be...
Mother's love has no end.
Childhood ends.
Teens grow up.
College closes doors between us.
Adulthood sweeps our kids away.
Life divides our lives.
Yet, we must rise to the Occasion
as our Dance comes to a close,
and another takes our place,
We summon our strength
and choose to celebrate
and choose to celebrate
When Love comes
To companion our daughter or son
to that Place that we can not follow.
So until then,
Mom, If you're listening,
Let no errand or grudge,
Silence or distraction
texting or tift
texting or tift
be Thief of your sands of Time.
They are spent so fast
in Life's hourglass,
You'll regret if you glance away.
The lullaby and cartoon songs
barely fade before it is Intermission.
A pet, a playmate, a field trip
and suddenly the curtain falls
On those magical years
Between laughter and tears,
Between bedtime stories
and high school glories.
and high school glories.
Glance away
and you'll miss
the Moments.
Whatever can wait,
can wait.
Whatever can wait,
can wait.
Take it from mothers
who stand at the Dock
watching the far Horizon...
It is humbling yet glorious
Heartbreaking but grand
to walk the path of Motherhood.
My prayer is that
You too will find
the grandeur of messy days
Of errands shared that take forever
and pets and squabbles and exams,
of nerves and haircuts and sleepless nights.
Of phone calls you dread
and details you're spared
and all the In Between
When you don't even notice,
You don't even hear
Their patter ascend to their Path.
May you be gently awakened
by their stirrings in the Night
that bid you get out of bed,
to surprise them with ice cream
or sit at their side,
Or overlook that fight.
May you awaken to see the Sunrise
that follows the endless nights
When you're too tired to breathe
and too wired to sleep
And your heart is in your throat.
May you groggily rub your eyes
Like the child you once tucked in bed
to hear what's gone unspoken
to hear what's gone unspoken
and see clearly all that Love would see
Before it is too late.
May you discover
and hold quite dear
the Privilege you're granted
To birth a soul
and guide a child
from tea cups and toad stools
to the edge of that shore
Where Life will bid them sail.
May you know your Love
was spent in full
despite all empty threats and nonsense.
May you know you treasured
hours and Moments and memories
that make Eternity blush.
May the words you spoke
Speak volumes
when Life tries to steal their Voice.
May you know the tender touch
that you held back
that you held back
and the hugs you longed to give
Transcended limitations
Of petty rules and peers.
They left their living shadow
On a heart that will reach back
inside they'll seek your comfort
Long after you have walked away.
Your love will console and fortify
Across the miles and years to come,
Even after your Walk has ended...
May you learn how fierce is the courage
Called a mother's Love.
And may you find the
Grace to give the rest of it
to those who need YOU now.
Rest assured,
weary mom,
lonesome mother,
Battle-worn Mama and friend...
It is a humbling privilege
to learn a Mother's place
is in the background
on the beautiful canvas of Life...
But, Oh, what a magnificent Painting!
(c) 2017 Dr. Laurie Davis Johnson
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