I have expressed it once or twice during my time on Facebook how there was a falling out between my mother and I in 1988. Since then, I saw her once in 1996 and again in 1998, but no contact, no meaningful exchange, and I hadn’t seen her since. For 27 years this broken-ness has been a part of my heart and life and no doubt it has to exist in hers as well.
Mother celebrated her 80th birthday recently and not due necessarily to the distance of where I am logistically but due to the distance between both hearts, mine and hers, I was not able to be there, standing behind her with the arms of an elder brother reaching across the shoulders of these fine men, my brothers, surrounding a greater mother for her love, actions and deeds to make men out of boys. And this pains me. GREATLY. Oh, it is easy to hold back a sniffle and move on. In fact, we both have mastered the “act” for this is what it truly is, an act and not the reality because no matter what, some 59 years ago is the same 59 years later, I am a son. Nothing can change this. You are my mother.
“Until now I didn’t know what you look like. Now I do and what I see is what you had been, to me. I see the age, the folds of skin which was not there, all indicative time has moved forward and somewhere 27 years ago we stopped. It will not wait for us to reconcile before either us has passed on. So, in boldness, I make this post because I’m going to believe by God, whether through family or friend, you will see an elder baby’s heart still crying for the comfort of his mother and as all mother’s know, only a child can be comforted by his mother. And I make you this promise when you make the second effort, since this will be considered my first: I’ll be a son—again.”
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, too.
December 26, 2015