Today is Sunday May 12, 2019. Mother’s Day:
The rain has been falling all night. I know this because I was awake and listening to the teams of your raindrop armies falling on the roof of my house and scattering like a thousand foot soldiers that run away after landing from the sky.
It is morning now, however, and light has come through the clouds but with no sunshine to greet the day.
Maybe this is right—the rain, I mean, and the slowness of the morning, the gray skies, and the quiet dreariness of a windless, rainy morning is fitting for now.
I understand this is Mother’s Day. I also understand this day has different meanings for different people.
There are the new Moms, —God Bless them.
God Bless every one of them, happy with newborns, swaddled closely and held tightly.
God Bless them and their new life. Bless their new adventure. Bless the newness of everything.
Bless their children. Bless their life-long journey and may it be free from sickness, free from heartache, and free from the snares of life, which catch us all too often. God Bless them and keep them fortunate.
God Bless the reoccurring Moms; the ones that have been in the game for a while. They are the veterans, the seasoned and equipped with the understanding of what it takes to be a Mom.
Bless them the woman that understand how their biological rights of motherhood is not always the same thing as being a Mom.
Biology is biology but Motherhood is magical.
Bless them, our adopted Moms, the ones that reach out even when birth is not their bond. Bless them, the Moms that understand and care anyway because they know, they feel and understand, and more accurately, they love.
Bless them, the Moms of the fallen. Bless their losses. Bless their pain. Bless their tragedies because of all tragedies; there are none more unnatural than the tragedies of a Mom burying their child,
Bless them the dog Moms and the cat Moms, or any of the dedicated animal Moms because they do know what it means to nurture, to care, to heal, and to love. Bless their pawed children. Bless their love because their love is truly special.
I am quiet now, teary-eyed, admittedly.
I cry because I weep for the loss of my own Mom. I weep for the missed opportunities and the wasted breath on phone calls that could have been spent on other things and taken in other directions.
I am thinking of the sound of Mom’s voice and how just the sound was healing to me and comforting in my worst times.
I once wrote to you and explained, “There is nothing so strong as a Mother’s love,” which I heartily believe and accept as truth.
Therefore, not time or space, nor distance could stop the power of my Mother’s love.
It’s just me that feels the dilemma—it’s my thoughts and my emotion that interfere because I miss her.
I miss calling. I miss hearing from her in the morning, early as can be, just waiting to say, “Good morning.”
Above all, I know there is no one that will cheer as loudly or as loyally as Mom. No one in the world.
Today is your day, Mother’s Day.
However, as a son, I am heavyhearted. As a father, I am heavyhearted too because every son that grows to be a man wants his Mom to see the life he created—to see you be part of this life, to hold, to help, to tell bedtime stories, like Cinderella Nussbaum. This is an inside Kimmel family story that began in generations before mine.
I am heavyhearted for my friends that mark off their calendars. Another year passes and another year goes by that their Mom is gone, —and in full disclosure, not a year goes by that this loss becomes any easier.
I am heavyhearted for the Moms I know that lost their children to the world of addiction.
There is a Mom right now, home, worrying about her daughter as she roams the battlegrounds of heroin in a war that claimed so many it has officially lowered the age of life expectancy in out country. There is a Mom clinging to a photograph of her daughter and works the streets in Newark, just trying to find her youngest daughter so she won’t die like her eldest.
I am heavyhearted for Eric’s Mom and Jake’s Mom and Brendan’s Mom and Kaya, Aiden, Alec, Kim and Christine, and the sadly long list of other Moms that await their child that will never return home in the flesh.
I am heavy hearted for the Moms awaiting the terms of their child’s incarceration to end.
Bless their lives and bless their memories.
Mom once told me that life is meant for living. Mom said that we have to live, no matter what. Life keeps going even if we want to make it pause or stop—still, life keeps moving, life keeps going, and if we are not careful, life has a way of getting away from us. “So live it.”
Maybe the rain is right. Maybe this reflects the weepiness of our losses. Maybe the rain is Mother Nature’s way of permitting the sad moments. Maybe this is her way of saying, “Hush now, I’s okay.”
Yes, I am heavyhearted. However, I am enlightened. I am enlightened by the Moms I have in my life, to know them, to love them all, to be a part of them, cared for, adopted by, and fostered in ways that I cannot explain in words. All I can say is this: Bless them.
Bless them because my life would not be what it is had it not been for them. Bless them for their influence upon me. Bless them because they show me that I was right. There is nothing so strong as a Mother’s love.
There is another side to this special day, which might not appeal to others who’ve lost or sustained a loss like the ones I have detailed in the above paragraphs, —but even in the quiet, dark gray morning, even in the lugubrious gloom of lullaby rainstorms—there is nothing more beautiful in this world than Mom. I know this.
I feel it . . .
Happy Mother’s Day
Remember, any female can carry a baby to term; however, it takes a real woman to be a Mom!
By the way, some Moms are the best Dads I’ve ever met . . . (Just sayin.)
I was thinking of our funnier memories, like the time you tricked me into taking that long walk without telling me how long it was going to be. I was thinking about the idea of you being young again and whole again, and healed, as in refreshed and no longer held to the physical restraints of the body, but instead, unleashed and enlightened by the spirit of your soul. You are free now, which is why you always told me we do not weep for those who pass away. We weep for ourselves. They are free now and we are here without them in the ways we are used to.
I was thinking about the signs that followed me for a while. I don’t see them quite as often. And it’s not that I don’t look. I always do. Maybe I just need to look differently or maybe I should listen differently (or more carefully.) But for now, I will just sit back and listen to the rainfall scatter upon my rooftop and hear the raindrop armies that scatter like a thousand foot soldiers across my roof.
wait . . . the rain just stopped
Mom, is that you?
I love you