Sunday, May 9, 2010

Did You Ever Know That You're My Hero?

The Prophet

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you, and yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love, but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward, not tarries with yesterday.

- Kahlil Gibran


The title is a little schmaltzy even for me, but then, I am my mother's daughter.

First, I have to tell you that my mother is incredible. I'm sure that everyone thinks so, but my mother truly is.

My mother was never like the other mothers. While the other mother's played cards or mah johng by the pool, my mother played lifeguard. While the other mothers read bedtime stories, my mother wrote them. She was, is, and always will be one in a million. My mother kept a politically correct kitchen long before people thought about being pc. And if we'd all been composting and organic gardening when she started it, there would probably be a few more polar ice caps remaining.

She never fails to amaze me... Most people her age take a handful of pharmaceuticals to get through the day, she relies on vitamins, exercise, and a healthy diet. And although she'll tell me that old age is setting in and she's getting senile, she's still one of the smartest people I've ever known. In fact, she may just be the smartest person, because she is not only knowledgeable, but she manages to remain happy and balanced. She is the zen master, because it is all so natural to her.

Many women my age anxiously lament that "I'm becoming my mother". I relish the thought that I seem to become more like her daily. I'm only sorry that it didn't happen years ago.

As I write, she is probably fixing dinner and dancing around the kitchen (one of the quirky habits that I've inherited from her). She's no doubt singing songs you would know with lyrics that just flow from her heart. And after dinner, she'll be sitting on her porch watching the sun set over the Smokies.

My mother and I are very close despite the miles. Our phone conversations don't begin "why don't you call me?" but they nearly almost end with "the batteries on my phone are beeping". And even though I just spoke to her, I miss her already.

Happy Mother's Day!