Forward: This Mother’sĀ Day tribute likens mothers to sculptors and children to clay. Using our experience, knowledge and imagination we begin with a vision for our creation and by applying and releasing pressure we attempt to create what we envisioned. Mothers, like artists however, soon learn that most art pieces don’t end up exactly the way they were originally intended. Mistakes and unexpected turns change what you were trying to create … and the result is beautiful none-the-less. I wrote this from my own perspective as I am entering the journey of mothering a teenager, but the thoughts apply to all. Wherever you are in your journey of mothering may you appreciate the journey ahead and the journey your own mother took. Might every mother take the opportunity to stand back and marvel at their creation today because with all of its flaws and imperfections it is beautiful and has bettered the world. Might every child take a moment to not just honor the person who with immense dedication tried their best to create goodness but might they also see her in all her honesty and humility and know that she came to you with no instruction.
Happy Mother’s Day to all!
I see you,
…. in all of your beautiful, growing glory. I relish in the person you are becoming, my own contribution to the world. The clay Iāve so dedicatedly tried to mold, once a soft mound of innocent impression in my hands, now gives way to detailed features as your person takes shape. My heart soars as you stand taller and taller yet, and the world begins to notice your presence and strength. I see you.
See me.
The sculptor, apron on and chisel in hand, smoothing every bump, carving every line. Sleepless nights and endless days, constantly working to give my creation life. For so long, the view seemed to flow in one direction: my vision for you. But here, stepping back a moment to gaze at you, I can see that the day is fast approaching that your eye sight will clear and you will begin to see me. A perspective that goes both ways now. The powerful innocence of childhood emblazoned me in your eyes, and I shone like a star. But that light is breaking and soon you will begin to see me more as the ordinary and flawed human being that I am and less as the illustrious sculptor youāve idolized. As your adolescence blossoms further into adulthood, my wisdom and abilities will begin to deflate and I will no longer hold the weight and the endless inspiration you once saw. But I am always here. See me.
Be patient with me.
As the figure youāre coming to visualize begins to change ā¦ the reflection I see of myself too, will morph. I am coming to see my inner self, once again, raw and unencumbered. Like Cinderella at midnight, whose ball-gown turned to rags as promised ā¦ I too will emerge from this fantasy reminded of who I once was. Not the world-renowned artist you thought I was, but a girl. A girl who had a dream and when handed clay, accepted it. And though that girl always sat within me, just below the surface ā¦ seeing her again through the reflection in your eyes is painful. I want to be your perfect model but the cycle of light through the windows of life make that impossible. Every day has its beginning and its end, and every life too. Along with light comes shadows. It is I who will fall into the shadows. And you, who are stepping into the light. As you gain your sense of self and power ā¦ I will lose some of mine. It will be painful. Be patient with me.
Forgive me.
As your eyes clear, and your ears open, the stories of my human failings will fall upon you and penetrate your evolving membrane of reality. If they sting when they hit you ā¦ I hope the sting is short-lived. And I hope that with time, you learn to smile about them instead of grimace. I hope that you come to understand me instead of judge me. I too was once an impressionable lump of clay like you, who learned and lived. My mistakes are not for you to repeat or for you to own. Accept them at face value as a symbol of my humanity and resiliency and forgive me.
Trust me.
In one, intense, life changing moment, when that clay hit my hands, wet and new, the love I had for myself transferred to you. No one has ever mattered more than you. The moment I saw your face I wanted everything good for you. Making a mistake as a mother, was my biggest fear. Every idea, every agenda, every purposeful act had you penned in as the beneficiary. I haven’t changed my plans. I haven’t switched beneficiaries. You are the one moving on ā¦ stepping off the platform I created for you and onto your own path ā¦. a wonderful and exciting path it will be. But letting you take that step and stopping myself from building a glass case around you to protect you. That is the hardest thing I will do. Trust me.
Remember.
Remember the birthday parties, the Halloween costumes, the nights we studied past your bedtime so that you could ace that test, the lessons you learned-especially the hard ones. Remember the adventures we had, the times we laughed, the memories we built, the places youāve seen. Remember them because that was my workĀ ā¦ and that work was all for you. Remember to think critically, to be compassionate and to love. Remember to create, to work hard, and to play even harder. And remember that that which is good is what matters most. Life is short. History repeats itself and our futures are always influenced by our past. Every cycle, even this one, comes back around. So, Remember.
Stay beautiful.
Powdery residue still stuck to my hands, my heart is breaking knowing that my masterpiece will one day walk out of my studio and outside onto the street; but it is breaking with pride because you are the most beautiful creation I ever saw. With a dirty rag and a lonely chisel, Iāll stand in the empty studio, my wrinkled hands clasped in anticipation of what wonders you will create. I was hardly the sculptor. You, my beautiful piece of clay ā¦ took shape all on your own. My hands merely guided you. And if one day, you should be handed a lump of clay, Take it! The coolest thing happens when time and hard work and love come together.
The world is a garden and itās up to us to make it beautiful. You are beautiful. Make beautiful. Stay beautiful.
Love always, Your Momma
To all the sculptors who, whether they planned it or it not, when handed a lump of clay, accepted it. And because they did, the world is a more beautiful place.
