Thursday, April 29, 2010

Loved

It was one of those family holidays where we were gathered with the cousins and aunts and uncles at Grandma's house, which was the rural equivalent of about a block away from our house on the same farmstead. In the usual way of childhood fickleness and temporary allegiances, for some reason unremembered, my sister and my cousins were refusing to play with me and I was nearly hysterical with sorrow and frustration and shame. My mother saw me crying off in some corner and rather than lecture and force the issue with the errant cousins, merely took my hand and walked me out the door. We walked to our house, where she took me into the living room and picked out not just one but a whole STACK of books, and settled me in next to her on the sofa and began to read to me. No pointless questions about why they were shunning me or who did what, but merely showing me maternal attention that was a pure and true form of affection, and showing it to me exclusively. Nestled there next to her, hearing her calm and smooth voice reading stories to me, I have never felt more loved. That moment would never leave me. No matter what happened ever, that day or for the rest of my live MY MOTHER LOVED ME. At that moment in time in fact, my mother loved me most of anyone or anything in the whole WORLD.
That is all you need to know, that one person loves you and will be on your side when you need it.
Soon, we grew a bit bored with the books and a little curious what was going on back at Grandma's house, maybe a little hungry for the lavish banquet of holiday foods, so we set back off down the path. And having established such lovely rapport with the reading, we chatted all the way and were still chatting when we walked in the kitchen door to find the family engaged in the usual chatter and laughter and banter. The cousins who had wanted nothing at all to do with me previously now realized me for the valued celebrity that I was and wanted to know where we had been and what we had been doing and suddenly wanted, needed desperately to include ME in their games and activities.
All was right with the world and I hope I gave my mother one last smile of thanks before I ran off to play with them.

4 comments:

Chuckles said...

The next time mom gets cranky perhaps you should do the same for her. The healing power of words AND someone who cares enough (sorry about that) to read them to you...

goprairie said...

We aren't warm and fuzzy that way. We aren't natural huggers. We'll hug you back but rare is the warm fuzz that we rural German Lutherans will initiate.
I have my own ways now. I send her flowers and she complains they are too much expense. I buy her extra fruit when I shop for her groceries and put some on her plate when I make our meals. I buy her those soft handmade caramels and she eats a half at a time now and then. I see them open on the table, a half cut off and missing and know she enjoys them. I say slightly critical things about my beloved children so that she can defend and praise them. We have our own ways now. Our own dance that says what we need to say.

Chuckles said...

"Our own dance that says what we need to say." - Nice...

Anonymous said...

I had a daughter who was seized by her own temper at times, artistic and wonderful and tender-hearted but also too often angry and combative, hard to get close to. I read her to sleep for years, reciting every one of the Laura Ingalls Winder books and then sequels by her grandson, the Ramona and Beezus books, other childhood classics and myths, even doing all the character voices in James and the Giant Peach (I thought the spider was a southern belle and spoke her that way, not realizing she was supposed to be French). It was the only way to help her unclench, and I wish I could read to her again on cold winter nights and sweaty irritable summer afternoons, and help her anger drain away and replace it with peace. -- Stella