My mother 1943

There is always something I can learn from my daughters. Which often surprises me because I always thought as their mother it was my job to teach them. But, as life has taught me time and time again, being their mother has been my greatest teacher. And yesterday I learned a big lesson about Love.

Yesterday, my daughter, Alexis, wrote about my mother on her blog, The Wunder Year. I read Alexis’ account of her memories of being with my mother, of my mother sharing her stories of India and life in a place that she thought of as Shangri-la, and I wondered, ‘why do I not see my mother this way?’

And that inner voice of knowing replied, “Because you are holding onto how you want to see her so that you can keep blaming her for anything that has gone wrong, or will go wrong in your life.”

“Pshaw!” my rational voice (or was that my lesser/smaller self) replied. “That’s not true.”

And the voice of knowing looked at me with her all-seeing eyes and I knew what she was thinking. ‘Who are you trying to fool?’

Sigh. I took a breath.

It’s true. I am holding onto seeing my mother through the filter of my memory because… it’s easier. To let go means to make room for change to happen. And change means I have to shift my perceptions. And shifting my perceptions means everything shifts.

What if the world falls off its axis if I shift? What if my shift creates havoc on earth?

Oh my. Aren’t I just the powerful one?

But all kidding aside (I know I’m not that powerful), I was holding on and holding on was not serving me. Time to open my perceptions and rejoice in this place of being free to experience my mother in a way that creates more of what I want in my life.

Time to surrender and fall into love.

It was about then in my thinking that the tears began to flow. Oh, nothing too pathetic or anything. I mean, it wasn’t a river of tears, more just a gentle spring misting of my eyes. A fogging up of memory to allow me to see clearly what is now, right here.

And now, right here is… Love.

My mother and I have never had a strong relationship. I always felt like I wasn’t accepted, that there was no room in her mind for me to be me. Not that I knew who I was. Just more a case of knowing — well I don’t want to be like her.

And so, I spent my growing years being everything I deemed my mother wasn’t. In the process, I became a lot like her. In good ways and not so good. I never really stopped to think about how much we were alike until this Christmas when I sat at the dinner table I had decorated with such care and shared in a meal I’d prepared with such love. My mother always did that. Set a beautiful table. Entertained with ease. Served her guests first and always went out of her way to make everyone feel welcome and special.

Sure, there are characteristics of my mother I don’t possess. I mean, I did have a father who taught me a thing or two about life. But in believing in kindness, in the goodness of my fellow human being, in always looking for wonder and awe, in seeing the beauty all around, I share those things with  my mother.

And still, I held my distance. It’s safer this way, I told myself.

Until yesterday morning that is when I read my daughters blog and saw a woman I’d missed knowing. A woman whose gentle heart I kept piercing with my sharp words throughout my growing years and who kept loving me in spite of myself.

Yes, there are some mistakes my mother made that cost me dearly in my growing years. But they were never done with malicious intent or out of a desire to hurt me. Most often, they were enacted out of fear, and possibly a desire to protect me, or herself, from having to face life’s harsh realities.

Isn’t it time I let go of holding on to the stories I tell about ‘what happened then’ and simply give into rejoicing in the fact, I am alive, right now, living a life I love, surrounded by people I love and who love me. Isn’t it time?

Hell ya!

I saw my mother through my daughter’s eyes yesterday and learned an important lesson.

It’s never too late to quit being the brat. And it’s never too soon to surrender fear and anger and regret and whatever else is holding me back from living completely in the rapture of now.

It’s never too late to fall into Love.