Conscious musings: About Ma.

Solitude

The news was almost everywhere last week. At least, one out of every person in one household knew it was Mother’s Day last Sunday. I had taken a little time to think about what I could do for Ma on Friday, and then Saturday… but I couldn’t get to make a choice; more because I was overwhelmed with a lot of thoughts, one of which was how I had a lot of thoughts to think. So I let it pass. That day came and I didn’t say a word about it to mum. Maybe she knew, maybe she didn’t, I do not know… but I didn’t feel too guilty about it because I reasoned she would know I love her so much.

But then today, I got the DailyPost mail prompt and there it was, ‘write an ode to your mother’ in commemoration of the past mother’s day celebration. I smiled, then I sighed. How do you tell the world the sky is beautiful, when it is very glaring for all to see? There are just no words.

I remember once asking a ‘friend’ to tell me why he loved me. He stuttered for a while, and eventually, all he could say was ‘I just love you.’. I remember getting hurt that day, and thinking he was just a silly prick! But sitting out here with the least idea about what to write for ma, I realise I was thinking as a child and I was wrong. I realise love is not measured or defined by the number or quality of words, but by actions and thoughts.

I realise I can be a handful. More than having the capability to be, I know I actually am a handful. Despite this, I can’t count the number of times mum has not not been there for me. Watching my sisters raise their kids, and playing the ‘mummy’ role myself these days, I begin to wonder how it is that a woman stays sane through all that baby drama every one time. Maybe it is God’s gift of grace? Maybe it is a self- defined strength? Maybe it is just a responsibility that must be fulfilled? Or maybe it is love? I don’t know. But I know that whatever that compelling force is, that makes our mothers carry us from their minds and dreams as kids, to living grown men and women as adults, mothers are gifts to mankind.

Mum is all shades of a gem. I love it when she is happy, but maybe that’s normal. I remember how sometimes I would sit and muse about her, and end up in awe of how much she means to me. She is a wonderful listener, I love to tell her stories. She is a fighter, fighting battles for her family with prayers and love. She is not perfect, hell, tell me who is! But she, she is just very mum. She is a role model, my very own role model in so many ways. Mum is strong, never afraid to tell the truth to her own children, kind in thoughts, and fun to be around… plus she’s got her flaws and it makes me realise that even superheroes are human.

So, this is not an ode, or an epic. It is just a note saying ‘There are no right words to describe you, mother, but I can say you are the shining sun in my sky. I love you today, and even tomorrow, i’ll love you same.’

Happy mothers day in arrears to mine, and every mother out there. Mothers are great, but mine is awesome!

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© The Short Black Girl, 2015.

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Musings of a March Born.

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It’s March and the day seems to draw closer still. Every now and then, I sit in quiet contemplation of my own life- the wins, and losses; the proud triumphs, and shameful mistakes and I keep wondering, are we there yet? It’s been a thorough past year, maybe the one in which ‘ve learnt the most lessons of my life so far, and despite the meltdowns, I am thankful- for the lessons, and the memories; the ties made, and the ones severed. I am grateful for every breath, and every tear shed because I know He didn’t give me more than I could comfortably bear.

It’s Magic March again, nearing that time of the month, and ‘m filled with as much ecstacy as can come with the anticipation of pure Magic.

I reckon it’s the 6th of March already, but nonetheless, happy Magic March people! 🙂

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© The Short Black Girl, 2015.