Mother's Day

It Come and Goes

The relationship with my mother is complicated, and I will leave it at that. I am the youngest of three and have always played the role of the fixer, the nurturer, and the caregiver. Despite my exhaustion, I cannot unravel that thread. It is ingrained in my human fabric. I have mixed emotions on this Mother’s Day and every year presents itself differently.

Today, I find myself on my own, without my immediate family to surround me. My husband is away for work, while my adult sons are in different parts of the province. My mother sits in her rocking chair, as she does every day and we share idle conversation. By my side, as always, my two fur boys remain loyal.

This morning began with some self-care at the gym, followed by some gardening and writing. Dog cuddles on the couch will end the day. I love the simplicity of my life.

My two sons and I have the most amazing relationship, and I am beyond grateful for every moment I have experienced with them. I reflect on the years gone by and occasionally; I long to have those moments back. I am a mother who walks with pride, knowing I have been a part of raising two amazing humans. Truthfully, I felt like an imposter mom in those early days. Some days, I still feel that way and wonder how I got to be so lucky as to watch these boys become strong, confident and respectful men.

Anyhoo – this day has granted me the time to reflect and to be grateful.

Plus, I just had to place my son’s gift to me in the world – for others to see. His words encompass many of my favorite things.

1. My youth spent playing on the shore of the Whitson river

2. My birthstone - ruby

3. My favorite color – blue

I hope you enjoy…

Whitson

July summer heat, down by the creek
Her twin rubies fell into the deep
Flustered, flattered, barely three feet
She waited alone for Whitson to speak

Downstream they go
A moment washed clean
The girl always knew
A friend in the blue

January snows, the river still flowed
The city’s bile soaked her clothes
Coat ajar, men afar, she shed grey woes
Smiling as Whitson chilled her bones

Downstream they go
A moment washed clean
The girl always knew
A friend in the blue

Stories abroad, now words to page
Flowing like an earring swims away
A fond memory, thirty years to the day
Now Whitson knew she was here to stay

Downstream she strolled
A moment in the breeze
On the bank, paper and brew
She pens tales by the blue