Mother's Day is for Mothers

I thought of sending you a card. But all the cards I looked at were made by someone else. I thought of making you a card, but I didn't have the materials. I sent you an e-card, but that seemed like a really lame way to express what I feel. So I made you this as well.

I still do not know what it really means to be a mother. I do know what it means to be mothered, and for that I am lucky. What would my life have been like if I were one in the vast group of people who didn't grow up with a mother, or were mistreated, or simply didn't want to be around parents? I don't even want to hazard a guess.

What does it mean to give and give, until you feel that your energy has been willed to a being completely apart from yourself? Who is that woman who lived in the mountains making art, breaking rules, living young? Who is she now?

Is she really so different? Not to my knowledge, though I suppose my first-hand is only really a third-hand account. She is the woman who gave me courage. I can't see who I would have been, had I not been privy to the courage that my mother exhibited all through my life. Up on a stage with only lights separating her beating heart from the hundreds of pairs of eyes spread across a black floor. Would I be pursuing a degree in performance, if I hadn't grown up with the indisputable knowledge that I CAN risk embarrassment for the sake of the moment where I feel my heart sing in my chest before the eyes of strangers? Is it a compulsion to perform, or a legacy?

The multiple question marks within these paragraphs are a testament to the far corners of life which I have not yet reached. I am still learning, and I'll be damned if I don't have the most interesting, capable, and altogether adorable teacher there is.

Every year, Mother's day gives each of us an opportunity to reflect on the past actions that allowed us to arrive at the points that we have reached. Specifically, the actions that were administered by the woman who made it all possible. Do we all have responsible parents? Unfortunately, no. But you have to face the fact that without them, you wouldn't even be here to make that judgement.

I am lucky in the sense that as a child I got my mother all to myself. No siblings to divide her attention.

I am lucky in the sense that my mother's talents allowed her to see very clearly my need to create art that was all my own. Her support was unwavering.

I am lucky for having had the ability to create very few disturbances in my youth, giving greater allowance to cultivate a stone-etched friendship with my mommy. The word "Silliness" begins and ends with the two of us.

I reflect often on the strange fact that I have such a strong connection to my home and my parents, yet I was still able to move across the country, and generally acclimate myself to infrequent visits to or by my parents. I find myself yearning for my mother's cooking often; desiring my mother's company on walks around the city; wishing I wasn't dancing alone in my room.

I draw this series of broken and oddly connected paragraphs to a close, with the assurance that my thought process goes deeper and further than I could ever eloquently express in written words.

I love you more than any of these words say. I hope your Mother's day is relaxing and perfect. I wish I could be there to make it so. I got you some flowers from Boston. I hope you like them.