“Then the real work of motherhood will begin,
the job of waking into each morning, trusting.”
“Planning the Future,” Dorianne Laux, What We Carry, 1994
Sunshine floods the room and the dog rests near the door, blinking in his sleep. The rains that washed away the colors from the mornings this last week are gone and we bake in light - clear, warm, yellow light. If July had a feeling, it would be eight o’clock on this morning.
Today I am aware of the odd dissonance of mothering in heart only. My children, nineteen and twenty-one, are out there in the world, making their lives. Strong, capable, passionate and independent, they are eager and open to what life may bring. I wonder, do they ever think of me more than two thousand miles away worrying about them? As Dorianne Laux writes, one mother, among many, “waking into each morning, trusting”? I trust in their innate sense of self-preservation, in their intuition about themselves and others, and in their ability to weather the waves that pound, as well as uplift. I find that my beingness as a mother is not affected by what age they have attained, nor by any distance. My mothering is hobbled from action and placed into faith.
I embrace this beautiful Friday, hoping that for my children the day is beautiful where they are too. If I could make it so, I would. My love is an anchor, a pin dot on the map on which we three are joined. Wherever they may be, whatever they may be doing, my love anchors a place for them in the universe. The fact that I love them is the first intention I place in the world. The second intention is that this should be enough somehow, always.