Tag Archives: mothers

happy birthday to my mother (six years after her passing)

Today my mother would have turned 83. She was 20 when she birthed me so it’s always been easy to keep track. Just add 20; easy math. She’d be proud of me. After all, she would probably remember trying to help me with my geometry homework. I swear my poetic brain just could not conceptualize the spatial figuring of a triangle. Geometry often brought me to tears.

To be truthful, I didn’t remember today was my mother’s birthday until late in the afternoon. Oh, it was on the calendar. April 9th – Aries’ time – is indelibly engrained in my memory.

I think of her on a fairly regular basis. This time of year – now that it is actually acting like spring – I hear those wind chimes I’d bought her one year for her birthday. After she died, I got them back. The chimes have a beautiful sound as the breeze blows through them. These chimes are deeper than most and I love the profundity it calls forth somewhere deep within me.

What a wonderful gift for me on her birthday!

Advertisements

Sometimes when I look in the mirror I see my mother

[This is a pantoum. If it seems like lines keep repeating themselves, they’re supposed to in a pantoum!]

Sometimes when I look in the mirror I see my mother.
She is gone now, passed into another dimension.
I heard her voice once when I was gardening.
Her wind chimes send messages when I least expect them.

She is gone now, passed into another dimension.
I inherited her cheekbones and stubborn disposition.
Her wind chimes send messages when I least expect them.
I hear, “relax – don’t worry – all will be well.”

I inherited her cheekbones and stubborn disposition.
She was fiery and often showed it.
I hear, “relax – don’t worry – all will be well.”
I am grateful for all she taught me.

She was fiery and often showed it.
I like those reminders when a breeze is blowing.
I am grateful for all she taught me.
Our lives so different; I learned from her.

I like those reminders when a breeze is blowing.
I heard her voice once when I was gardening.
Our lives so different; I learned from her.
Sometimes when I look in the mirror I see my mother.

Phebe

written in December in the poetry class led by Mary Pierce Brosmer at Women Writing for (a) Change

108 poems, this one is #8

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~

all mothers are daughters
not all daughters become mothers
we share in our womanhood

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~

Chanting up & down I-71

I spent a delightful day accompanying my friend Veena to Ohio State University. She was making a quick trip to deliver some items to her daughter who goes to school there. Seems daughter had left quite a few items at home over spring break and mom was going to deliver them.

This sweet mother also packed a lunch for all of us — homemade Indian food, of course! We played Krishna Das and Jai Uttal most of the drive, interspersed with chatting. I kept her company as she drove.

The visit with Radhika passed quickly; we were literally catching her between classes. Veena decided to make a stop at the outlet in Jeffersonville on the way home. I bought a set of dishes and mugs with a bamboo pattern. We both bought the same wildly patterned top for a deep discount. We shared a latte for the ride home.

I always enjoy being in Veena’s company. Besides being possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Veena is a wonderful conversationalist. She is also a teacher to me, not only of Indian customs but also the wisdom of Siddha Yoga sadhana.

But what made this day most special was this: today would have been the 79th birthday of my mother. She died two years ago. I found a certain teaching in being a witness of this mother/daughter interaction today. How sweet and nurturing Veena is, how appreciative Radhika was of the visit to Columbus. They are both beautiful women on many levels. I felt fortunate to share in their intimacy.

Visiting my mother’s grave

I will be leaving shortly to drive to the next county to visit the cemetery in which my mother is buried. Her birthday would be tomorrow but I will be unable to visit then as I am going out of town.

Irene Shirley Krazl died two years ago from lung cancer. Fortunately, we had time to say goodbye. She spent time with hospice but as much of that as possible was spent in her own home. My sister Linda and I came to visit often (she had remarried and had Dave there, as well). I am so glad I had those last months to spend with her. Grateful for all those years of zen practice because it served me well. Although there were some tasks I could do (get her food, change her diaper, hand her morphine), mostly it was just ‘sitting’ with her, ‘being’ with her.

I was her first-born so I suppose that made our relationship a special one. She told me a story of how good I was, how she would set toddler me on her bed and overturn her jewelry box with all its belongings. She said I would sit there, entertained and in awe over the pretty necklaces and gemstones. I’m so glad we took that trip to the San Francisco Bay Area back in the ’90s. It would be our only mother-daughter trip.

mom & me on the boat to Alcatraz

mom & me on the boat to Alcatraz

I created a puja (altar) to my mother in my meditation room. Today I will take those dried flowers to her gravesite and do a spontaneous ritual, spreading them over her grave. I will say hello and continue to make the goodbye a real one. Happy birthday, mom! Can you hear me wherever you are?