Mom and Me

Mom and Me

I spent a lot of the day yesterday thinking about clouds, rain, and, most of all, storms. I even did an Internet search for storm photos. My favorites were the fierce ones with the most beautiful colors of deep orange and yellow and a hint of the sun peeking through, like promise.

My mother spends the day with me on Wednesdays while I work from home. On these days, I engage in a lot of spontaneous laughter, most times totally random, for no other reason except that when I smile, my mother smiles. When I laugh, she laughs harder and louder than I do. This happens often throughout the day--even as inside I feel about to break.

This new mother will most likely never remember another one of my birthdays. She will probably not make me another pair of earrings, so I find myself seeking out and wearing the ones she made for me before the first stroke. New Mother can't talk to me about her love for me, but she kisses me on the cheek and makes deep love sounds each time we see each other. And it is too late now to get her peach cobbler recipe or be taught how to make it.

I know that storms can break a thing. I also know they can cleanse, make new, make grow and turn the very idea of the sun into a precious gift.

New Mother is a gift.

The people who walk with me as family are the sun.

And laughter, real or not, is something I can choose, no matter how fierce the storm.