I never read the rules for mothering
it seems I was absent that day–
perhaps all of us were.
Carrying around the textbook burden of guilt,
the weight of which mocks our
shortcomings and reveals the all-too
constant truth that we’re just winging it.
Each new day, another brave face–
scooping up the pieces and soldiering on.
Content and smiling with the spoils of the day–
an unprompted thank you, pictures on the
fridge professing a love that is unquestioned
and unfathomably real– beyond any measure.
Tracing trails around the house–
discarded socks and half-eaten treasures,
a life of yes’s and no’s, pleases and thank yous
the giving and giving and giving and giving
though if given any other choice– we’d refuse it.
Tiny fingers and toes, growing past our own–
the curve of a cheek and dimpled smile
retracing years of devotion– reminders of the
sweet days, before language gave width and breadth
and life continued moving forward despite our
most desperate pleas to STOP
for just this one
sweet
moment.
The trick being– it never does, never will.
These sweet moments simply pile
one on top of the other and weave through each other
to create the constant film for which there is no
rewind or pause or fast forward.
Time will allow us only to
play.
the edges of myself 
Mandy, your words on motherhood are quite lovely.
I visited your site a year ago around Mother’s Day. And here I am again.
***
Second Mother’s Day Without My Mother
Mother’s Day without my mom was easier this year. Thankfully I’ve found true love in the arms of a strong caring woman, my only wish being that I had met her earlier in life.
On mother’s day I reflected on a dream I had in mid-April. It was an extremely lucid dream just before awaking in the morning. In it, my mother came returned. Words fail me here in my description. It was unmistakably her presence, but an intensely powerful energy of love-light. I remember thinking at the time that it felt as if it were the most powerful loving presence that I had ever experienced, although I cannot now say for sure. At the height of its intensity I woke up, and thought to myself, “WOW! What a dream,” because that is how my rational waking mind perceived it.
So I got up out of bed, wiped away a tear, and started my day as usual with coffee, yogurt, vitamins, meds, etc. Only later in the day did I see my calendar and notice that it was in fact the one-year anniversary of her death. Did she come back to say, “Don’t worry about me, I’m alright”? All I know is that it comforts me to think so, and that I hope that she can come back to visit next year also.