DECADES IN THE MAKING
A few weeks ago, I was helping my mother brainstorm book cover ideas for an autobiography she was completing.
We started talking about memories and other tender things. We were wrapping up when suddenly she paused and smiled, then said, “Just a minute, I want to show you something.”
A few minutes later, she returned with an old woodblock in her hands. It bore the brush strokes of a little boy who wanted to make his mother proud. At once, I hesitated but recognized it immediately. When I was very young, it was a class assignment, and I hadn’t seen it in at least 40+ years. I have a strangely vivid yet dreamlike memory of painting this. I remember working so hard on the petals and even more so on the green stem.
I remember.
I was deeply moved that she would keep such a thing. She has survived many epochs in her life, and I know it isn’t practical to keep everything that touches us – else we’d all be headliners on the television show Hoarders. But I was moved in ways I didn’t expect - that she would keep that little block of childhood art as a personal treasure brings tears to my eyes, even as I write this. She had a million and ten reasons to throw it out with each move to another city or country. Yet, she kept it hidden away, close to her heart.
I’ve been doing something similar with my children’s things. The adorably long-form essay Laura-Ashley wrote me years ago arguing [quite convincingly] why she should get a pet Ferret. Ethan’s pinewood derby car. Mitchell’s drawing of dragons. Wyatt’s elementary school craft projects. I hope to live long enough to show my kids my treasures of them – long after they’ve forgotten such treasures exist. Holding on to some of these treasures is like writing a lengthy love note, decades in the making. It’s a way of saying, “You see, I love you. I have always loved you.”
What an unexpected gift she gave me a few months ago, showing me a treasured thing. Now, I treasure it too – only differently.
Today is my good mother’s birthday. She has more years behind her than she has in front of her – and if I’ve learned one thing in recent years it’s later than you think. One day each of us will wake up and ache to have all the ordinary things we take for granted at this very moment. That gives me pause. That realization is changing me.
I wish I could make her the equivalent of this carefully painted block. I’m not that little boy who painted this so many years ago. But, in a way, I still am that little boy – forever wanting to honor her and make her proud. As I celebrate my mother’s birthday, I’m awash with feelings of the deepest gratitude. She showed how to be organized, work hard, think well, and that resilience isn’t just a thing you do when times are tough - it’s a lifestyle.
Over the years, she unknowingly prepared me for some of life’s most devastating challenges. And just recently showed me a breadcrumb of a parent’s love. It had a deeper impact on me than she’ll ever know.
Happy Birthday, Mom.
*** A Note to My Friends and Dear Readers:
You're going to notice a slight shift in some of my essays in the future. Yes, more stories of Mitch, but you're going to see additional stories about our life today - and the echo effect Mitch has in our lives. I'm going to be exploring how everything connects, and connection is everything.