The Guardians

My son Tom is visiting for a bit. He’s heading back to where he lives in Virginia in a few days but while he’s here, he’s been catching up on his sleep. 

Emerging from his childhood bedroom, he’ll come out tousled and stretching to comment that he doesn’t know “what the hell we do to him” but he sleeps, and naps, more here than anywhere else. He says this somewhat accusingly as if Seth and I might be slipping potions into his milk for the purpose of rendering him unconscious. While this would have been a fabulous idea during his terrible teens, I can assure you that we have never and would never.

The reason Tom sleeps better here is due to the same reason that when I would walk past the living room to my mother’s quarters, finding her either seated in her wingback, watching TV while plying one of several handicrafts she enjoyed or ensconced at her desk writing and humming along to something from her eclectic CD collection, I would start –as had been my original intent – chatting about one thing or another. Inevitably, however, I’d soon be curled up on her bed, enjoying deep and restorative sleep. She might have been a bit disappointed because she always welcomed a good talk but she’d never disturb me.

Simply put, our mothers are the guardians. We are they who will keep the wolf from the door, successfully wrestle the bogeyman into submission, vigilantly protect our sleeping angels -- tiny or full grown -- while they slumber.  That unconscious and restful abandon is why Tommy sleeps so deeply here and why I, a restless and fitful sleeper, would slip into a rejuvenating abyss when my mother sat near.

If you’re lucky, this is the kind of mother you have…or, as in my case, had for the blessed years she was with me on this earth. She’s still with me every day…showing up in dreams, as far away only as a thought or a prayer.

Here’s a little something I wrote once for Mother’s Day…

Mother’s and Trees

At first, you might not think that mothers and trees are similar beings but, upon closer inspection, the similarities cannot be ignored.

Trees and mothers come in many different sizes, shapes and colors. Sofas do, too, for that matter...but sofas are not brave, steadfast and proud. Trees, and mothers, are.

Trees put down roots so their branches will grow strong and be nourished just like mothers do for their children. And, trees are appreciated, respected, enjoyed and also, occasionally, peed on, just like mothers.

They are also sometimes taken for granted as we lean against them for support not unlike how mothers are occasionally thought of by their children. They are part of the landscape, dependably blending into the scene but when it’s raining we rush beneath their boughs for comfort and they become exactly what we need.

And, trees are beautiful…..just like mothers.

Happy Mother's Day