I dont think I have shared the following story, if I have please forgive me but in a new light of appreciation I wanted to share this for my mother and for a friend and his family who have just lost their beloved Mother. I wrote this several years ago when my Mom was feeling unlovely and unsure about the whole process of growing old. Beautiful, Just Like My Mother. Beautiful. What is beautiful, and how do we really define it? My mother, who just turned 83(she is now 90) frets about some age spots that have appeared on her arms. She wants to wear long sleeves because she thinks her arms are ugly . To me Mom is the most beautiful woman in the world. Her body is aged and bent by forces she cant control, like the forces that formed the Grand Canyons grandeur. These wrinkles, and scars only add to her loveliness because of the story they tell. In my Moms life she has born four children, and survived heart ache that would break most people. Those arms she now bemoans as ugly, have rocked babies, hugged away pain, and worked hard to provide for her family she loves. Her hands, worn and misshaped by arthritis, are works of art to me. They have made hundreds of meals, painted pictures, sewn clothing, comforted and soothed, and on occasion corrected. Mom is a marvel- the most fragile and strongest person I know. From her I learned the power of creativity, the joy of ordinary days, and how elastic the human heart can be. Her heart seems to stretch out and mend even if its been shattered. Think of the things a mother teaches. Most of us are born into love, but as we talk, walk, have at least the basic knowledge of manners, practice hygiene, dress ,eat and play its because she taught us these things. A mother tends to be an invisible constant compass in our lives and its not until she is no longer there that we realize the balance she gave our days. For some of us, it has been an aunt, grandmother, or perhaps a teacher who fulfilled this roll . Whoever she is, her effect and influence is profound and goes on and on like ripples on the water. Its only now as she comes to the end of her days, that I see, truly see the beauty of my mother. Like the final pieces of a puzzle, the picture becomes clear. Its not just her life reflected there, its also mine. I am the woman she has helped shape, the woman I am and the one I am yet to become. I hope and pray I may be as beautiful and as strong as my mother. I pray my body tells a story of a life lived long and well, one that loved others with all she had. And if I start to fret about age spots and wrinkles, may I see the work of art time has created and say beautiful.....just like my mother
Posted on: Sat, 23 Nov 2013 07:15:29 +0000
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