The natural duty of "mother" and "father" is God given. Both love, both protect, yet they tasks are split because of the vulnerabilities that motherhood brings. There is a reason that traditionally in times of war the men went first. If father fails to return from the battle, then mother is up, then the "mamma bear" comes out with claws and teeth... because then she is all that stands between her children and whatever is coming over the hill.
They say opposites attract. Perhaps that is so we can learn from the best of each of them and use that to cancel out the worst of each of them. So, recalling them at their best, my parents, is an important part of keeping myself on the right tracks, of keeping me well rooted and grounded to my past as I mature and stretch into the present, always with one eye on that mythical place they call the future.
If I had the chance for a more natural way to live, the time to focus on my baby, she would be so happy. If we had the time our ancestors did to sit under the sky, upon warm grass and sing, or carry her with me all day long as I did the things that needed to be done, she'd be so relaxed and so would I. And so, as she cries and screams I try to remember that and keep the love in my heart that is her medicine. Sometimes it breaks me to stay so soft when the pain is so great, but I'd rather do that than say the unpleasant things I hear other stressed parents utter. To be honest, that's the most annoying part, parents who are yet to realise that their job is to love their child unconditionally rather than to appease strangers in the street.
Baby,
It is my honour to be your parent. When you came my world changed, filled with love for you, my precious child. It is for me to defend you, to care, to help you mature into who you were born to be - not a small version of myself, but your own self. It is my God given duty to protect you from harm, yet it is your right to take your own reigns and judge your own risks as soon as you are able. I pray that my care of you leaves you able to be autonomous, to have control of your own life, able to fully love and care for those blessed to share life with you. I hope so. Just know my love for you is eternal, that it will always be in the ether to comfort your heart should you ever have need. You are the internal light in my heart,
Mom
My parents smile from the old photographs, full of the promise of youth. Mother stands in her wedding dress, modest by today's standards, simple and white. Father is the proud man holding the arm of his pretty dame, the sunlight reflecting from his unwrinkled face. That was before... before the battles to keep the roof over our heads and food on the table. It was before his arthritis and her heart disorder surfaced. I want to see them smile like that again, to find those spirits hiding inside their aching bones.
It is the role of the parent to be the "rock" for their child, but never the other way around. Children may be "anchors," their needs and love keeping their parent grounded, but that is where the lines are drawn. When parents lean on children, unless the child has grown into a mature adult, damage is caused. It is not the natural order for support to go be given from child to adult, though their love may indeed be a kind of invisible healer. Children should not be weighed down with the worries of adults; concerns such as global warming they have no hand in and no way to cure. Children are the angels we tether by being stable. When parents are truly "grown ups," children can enjoy childhood, growing to be joyous and loving; they are then ready to be good parents themselves having learnt from good examples.
Parenting is the one job you never quit. Every day is a new chance to get things right, to sow the seeds of love and confidence. We guide and nourish, allowing our children to develop into the people they were born to be. We help them find what they love, what their talents lead them to. And then, we let go. We watch in anxiety as they try out their "wings," yet are proud. We let them know that their home is still their home should they need it, and that their parents are still there just as before. They are our children for life and our love for them is eternal.
Once we were strangers exchanging glances, then lovers before newlyweds. In a few short years we held our first child and became a family. We brought two more angels into the world, new people to love and cherish - three blessings to carry us forward in life. From then on we had a new role, to be stable and loving, to provide the platform from which they would spring - one day leaving us with an "empty nest." Now that times comes close, our children are tall and strong. But since we did it right they won't really leave our lives but stay close. Next is old age, grandchildren and time to slow our lives down to a pace where we can notice the little things, truly enjoy what each new day brings.
In the countryside the green meant nothing to me. The grass was green, the trees were green and the bread was green half the time. I couldn't wait to leave, couldn't wait to leave that penetrating winter chill behind me and head for central heating, no garden and granite counters. Isn't that why I worked my ass off in school? Now my world is just grey: grey concrete, grey roads and grey skies. Sometimes I will turn a corner to find the city has planted a tree. Just one spindly cherry tree can transport me home, fill my lungs with fresh air and remind me of those I left behind. On these occasions I take a leaf for my pocket and I don't care who sees, taking a leaf isn't illegal, yet. Then at home I dry it between my old doorstopper dictionaries before digesting it to a skeleton and mounting it on green card. Now the forest of home is on my walls. Every leaf is my mother's smile or my father's bad jokes. How tired of them I was, how tired without them I am now.
It's 1982 and the Christmas tree is ridiculous. It scrapes artex from the ceiling as Dad wobbles on a ladder to hang the fairy. It truly belongs in a forest, dominating our small living room the way it does. So why is everyone grinning? Us kids are hoping from foot to foot awaiting the go ahead to hang the decorations. Packets of tinsel lie unopened on the floor, not just the snake kind, but the stuff that's loose strips too. Mom plugs in the lights and we almost explode, our fingers itching to get going. The memory of actually decorating the tree is far shorter than the time it took us to make it beautiful all those years ago; but the finished tree is like a perfect photograph. Funny how these events stay in the mind when so much else does not. But I'm glad it does, otherwise we'd just be left with the bad memories, the times our parents failed to maintain their cool, or worse. But this memory reminds me how they tried, how they did love, despite their many faults.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.