my mother

purity. if i could sum my mother up in one word, it would be that; purity. or some other version of the word, pure, genuine, authentic, what the Jews would call "kosher"..dare i say, perfect? of course no one is perfect, and certainly not my mother. my relationship with my mom is mine. it may not be yours, it may be something you can relate to, something you think is far-fetched and conjured up by an insane imagination, but it's true and it's mine and i nurture it like i would a 2-pound baby small enough to fit into my palm.

my mom would pick me up from school as a young child and go to the post office, nearly every day. you know, before you could pay bills on line, and when people actually wrote LETTERS back and forth to one another. i would stay in the car and "hide" in the floorboard, tucked up into a little rolly-polly type ball. every time we went to the post office, i did this. and every time, she would get back in the car and say "where's my little darlena? oh no! i hope she didn't run away! darlena, darlena, where are you?" and i would, every time, pop up and laugh and smile and say "here i am!" and she would proceed to tell me what a little stinker i was and we would laugh some more. it's funny how the small things like that stay with a person.

she made birthdays the most special. we never had a lot of money, and i can't remember to save my life any birthday gift i ever received. but what i do remember are homemade cakes. betty crocker, or duncan hines, or whatever was on sale..those cakes made every birthday seem the like the best day ever. she would let me have a few friends over and it was just me, and a cake and friends, and because of her, i felt like the most important child in the world. this is why my children receive homemade cakes on their birthdays. store bought cakes are great, but i pass on this tradition because i want my daughters to feel every bit as special as i always did.

i remember waking up to sweet kisses and "good morning, precious." that's what my mom to this day calls me; "precious." i remember her consoling me after my hamster died and i thought my world was ending...i learned about death that day. i remember an overwhelming sense of protection over her and what we had as mother/daughter. chocolate pancakes, and old navy shopping trips, listening ears, and rightful punishments. i remember the slap she gave me, once when i was arrested (i was 14 and shoplifted, and i still hurt from that slap sometimes), and another time when she caught me smoking in my room. i remember secretly despising her when she'd forbidden me to see a friend who she thought would damage my youth...and now i see she was right. i recall doing things to her that pained her and hurt her so very much that her heart must have bled for a very long time as a result. the anger she had when i told her i was pregnant (and 18), probably envisioning the worst possible future for me. i can't remember everything, and yet i remember everything. i mostly remember the way she made me feel. to say i felt "loved" is so cliche, it's so mundane, it's so ordinarily normal. no, i can't say that i felt loved, even though i did, more than anyone, so deeply and widely and fully and wholly. it was more like, passionatley and fiercely adored. yes, she adored me. and i adored her. and till now, we still adore each other more than ever.

when i turned 16, she told me she was sad that i would never need her again like i did when i was a younger child. i'll never forget that conversation in the living room of our small apartment, staring at the green carpet. she compared me to my nephew justin, and how he needed my then sister-in-law. he was just a small boy then. she was envious of the way the boy needed his mother. she said i would never act that way toward her again, and she missed it terribly. at the time, i blew off that conversation. but i think on it from time to time. especially now as a nearly 30 year old woman who so desperatley hungers and thirsts for her mother, i need her so much more than i could have ever needed her as a child. life is harder now. it hurts more. and while she may not be kissing my skinned knees any longer, she somehow manages to kiss my very heart with her tender words and kind laughter. she is the most brave, courageous, independent woman i know. the most beautiful, the most kind, the most intelligent. she is so many things that i could never ever have the time to sit and write. and i sit here at my desk, and i cry from the overwhelming emotion of who i have been blessed with as my mother. purity.

oh dear, precious Savior..please please let my daughters see me as i see my own mother.