Becoming Mother

Mother. Archetype. Soul Story.

crumpled in a hospital chair, looking at my mother in the dim light of a monitor. She is fast asleep as the fluids drip drip from bag to tube and a respirator keeps time; ironically and painfully slow as I ponder how fast it all goes. I am recalling old times and reflecting upon the most recent conversations...

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Becoming Mother –R.R. Shakti, PhD
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...the conversation with my sister, as she broke the startling news of our mother's stroke and subsequent cancer diagnosis. My sister and I have not been close, really, not ever. An age gap, holes in communication, life-style choices so vastly different—over the years, our childhood kinship unraveled to scraps. Bu now sadness, hope and memories darn us together like a warm and comforting patchwork quilt.

I am thinking about the conversation with my husband as I groped for comprehension and stability in tragedy's tumultuous wake. ...At the time of our meditation when he reminded me to breathe, to believe.

...the conversation with my yoga community, who understood, supported, and adjusted my weekend schedule as I set off across the sky to be with my mom. to be here now, if only for a moment.

...the conversation with my cousin, who has been a dear friend since childhood. Strange comfort comes from retelling the news: what we know, what we don't know and what the doctors tell us.

It has been a day of conversations: with nurses, siblings, strangers, Dad;
prayers, meditations, thank-you's and advice...

And now the quiet finally settles around us, just me and my mom. She is fast asleep as the fluids drip drip from bag to tube and a respirator keeps time; ironically and painfully slow as I ponder how fast it all goes.
...And I realize what has been missing all along.
Mom. 

In times like this, when life bears down with the tender weightiness of human mortality and insecurity, confusion, sorrowful emotions—In times like this I always call my mom.

The greatest calm, the best relief arrives out of her grace, her unconditional love, her support and sanity.
I ALWAYS call my mommy. She rocks me gently with wisdom and sings lullabies of truth.

Who do I call now?
Who is the Mother when mother is ill: silent and tangled in tubes?

Even as I couch the question a steady ease arises from deep inside; a compassionate whisper from the goddess within; a sweet waft of fragrance from the lotus of the heart. Then, POP!, a kick to my right rib. Inside my round belly, a tiny human foot took a jab.
My baby is getting restless in there, and I am overwhelmed with realization.
Mother is an archetype. As she surrounds me now, I breathe her in like campfire smoke. 
I am becoming Mother. 

And I am grateful. 
What a treasured love we have known, my mother and I. Whatever happens next, I can marvel in the gift of enjoying such a confidant and friend: a nurturer, listener, lecturer, leader, supporter, reminder, informer, mother. What a gift to learn to Love by example, to simply love and be loved.

Celebrate your mom today, and every day. Celebrate the mother figures who inspired you to Love. Celebrate your mom. Celebrate memories, laughs, tears, lectures, misunderstandings, hugs.

Celebrate her energy pulsing through the earth as new sprouts poke their way out of the dirt, as new babies everywhere take their first breath, as the tide ebbs and flows.

And if she is still on the planet, your mama...
If you are so blessed–so truly fortunate–to have her love accessible, in the flesh...
Stop everything and embrace her.
Call her. 
Listen and Share. Hold nothing back.
Just Love her.
Because it all goes by so fast.

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mother. archetypes. love.

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