We humans crave peace and quiet, yet we rally above it with a clamour of discontent, as we war among ourselves. It’s enough to make me shudder, and my teeth ache over the senselessness of all the chaos happening in our world. I’ve been thinking of this and also a story from my childhood and any serene moments that I’ve tried to shift my thoughts to instead, are disturbed by an inner turbulent dialogue. From a past muted mist, the following emerges like an incessant docudrama.
The first scene is me sitting in a dark basement apartment with furniture from the 50’s, but it’s January 1977. I’m six months away from graduating from grade twelve. I’m lonely, with only dead silence for company. In the next scene, I’m squirreled away in a bedroom with real grown up furniture and it’s 2024. Desperately I’m typing. I’ve been trying to write my memoir. It’s slow going but page by page it’s being written, despite the erupting cacophony from the floor above. Is there ever silence in this house? There is a knock, a head peaks in. I don’t look up but respond tersely, “I’m writing.” The door closes again. Perhaps, this story can only be written in the wee hours on Mother’s day. I wish I could sleep but sometimes I think, I just need to get it out or I’ll explode, so here I am finally, with the house breathtakingly still, typing my past away so I can finally fall back to sleep.
This story is dedicated to my mom. I wonder what she would make of it.
Under our deck and next to our grape trellis, a family of Robins have built a cozy nest. I didn’t notice it until I was doing some grape pruning and mama Robin surprised me when she flew out and away from her babies. Watching her leave took me way back and I wondered if my own mom had observed how mama birds made their babies fly, by kicking them out of the nest. Perhaps she may have thought that was a bit harsh. And with that mindset, when she became a mother and her fledgling babies, my three sisters and I were getting to the age of flying, she decided it would be a good idea to leave the nest first.
And not come back.
I’ll never know if it was a conscious decision. Maybe it was just a convenient series of life events and circumstances that created each leaving occurance. Kind of like when I was about to turn 16 and apply for my driver’s licence, when interestingly enough my parents decided to sell their second car. I never learned to drive until I was out on my own. But I digress, whether the whole leaving thing was well thought out or not, it all felt like abandonment to me. Obviously it still bothers me or I wouldn’t be lying awake writing it down. I won’t go into the details over each departure, but suffice it to say, when my own children were born, like a scratch on a record that ruins the music, my mother’s choice(s) made me sing another tune to my kids. With a reassuring rhythm I told them I’d always be there for them and they’d always have a home.
I started singing that song thirty four years ago and since then, our house has gotten progressively louder and noisier as our eight children were born one by one, or in the case of our twins, two by two. Yes, booming bedlam would be an apt description for our household. Did I mention that along with the regular racket that comes from a family of ten, our kids all play(ed) several instruments between them? A typical day would begin as our oldest woke the household with a steady beat of scales played on the piano. This would go on for an hour before the school bus arrived. Then upon returning home, each would take up their respective instrument and violin, cello, drums and guitar chords could be heard spilling from all the various rooms.
Thankfully, flute, alto sax and bass guitar were mainly practiced at school and our daughter Grace, who took voice lessons, only ever sang in her bedroom. If I’d have been smart, I would have had them all play piano, ‘cause unlike a lot of instruments, it’s always in tune. Also, if I’d been thinking clearly I would have spaced our kids closer together, so I’d be living in a calm house at this time but no, like a crazy woman on a mission, I spaced them out to enjoy them fully and experience this whole messy motherhood gig to the hilt. Happy Mother’s Day to me! At this precise moment, we have five kids in the house. We were down to four, but then our oldest decided to return for a while.
Being the oldest, she heard my song and dance routine longer than everyone else and I guess she took me at my word. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad she’s back, but if there wasn’t enough commotion in our house, she has moved back home with two cats, one being extremely noisy. The word, caterwauling comes to mind when Emy’s insistent yowls echo through our four walls. Add that to the pandemonium my youngest twin daughter’s make on a regular basis, along with their teenage brother, and a Mack truck could drive through my kitchen at dinner time and I’d hardly notice.
Lately in the wee hours of the morning when my bladder reminds me that yes, I did have eight children. I’m rewarded with a bit of hushed stillness as I lay back in bed and sigh. I could almost slip back into oblivion except my peace is disturbed when my monkey brain starts swinging on my upcoming todo list. Or in the case of this story that just wants to be written. There are times I wish I was a painter instead. I’ll have to ask my sister C, if she wakes up in the early hours to paint a picture. Wait, actually, I think she doesn’t even go to bed some nights as she paints into the wee hours.
Anyway… It’s times like this that I start counting the years until any possible tranquility will be mine and I almost laugh out loud.
Maybe this is why mom left us; to find some peace.
That’s when I also hear my husband’s imagined voice telling me, “Lee, you’ll have peace and silence when you’re dead.” Speaking of husbands, I could probably fall back to sleep easier if he weren’t lying next to me rhythmically breathing so peacefully beside me. It’s unnerving and incredibly annoying. I want to hit him and wake him up so I can sleep. But I don’t. Even the glow from my computer and the click, click, click of my typing doesn’t wake him. How lucky some people are I think. Somewhere in our house a phone is vibrating. A message is coming through and I think, “don’t people ever sleep?”
Taking slow relaxing breaths, I notice that our white bedroom curtains are lightening, and through our slightly opened window I hear a few early birds welcoming the day with happy chirps. I’m not amused, but I wonder if that isn’t my mama Robin singing wake up, wake up to her babies. I look at my illuminated Fit bit and see it’s now 4:30 am. It’s time to wrap up this story.
Three more hours until I want to wake up. That is, if I ever get back to sleep. The weather has been unseasonably warm and I want to plant my vegetable garden. Digging in the dirt, even on Mother’s day is my happy place. A car drives by below our house and across the lake, a steady din from the highway is noticeable. Other people are awake and going places early on this Mother’s day. I want to go back to sleep but more mom thoughts come to mind. She’s been gone twelve years now. There are days when I wish I could just pick up the phone and hear her voice. I have things I still want to ask her. Things I want to know.
My body starts feeling heavy under our weightless down comforter and any thoughts start wandering away with gentle ease. I’m typing fewer words and finally I close my computer lid and set it aside. I’m entering an empty vastness. A place where I am free. I’m home in silence and peace. I start to float up and up and away from this earthly body with any concerns or worry. Drifting off now the last thing I hear coming from deep in my heart on this Mother’s day are the words,
“you are so loved my little bird.”
I let those words be the last thing I hear. I know I will remember them upon waking and I will write them down.
I love you too mom. Happy Mother’s Day!
Above, my mom with my three older sisters and my Dad’s parents, Bob and Flossie Clark. Below is my family, Mom, Dad and my sisters…I really like this picture because it’s one where my mom is holding me and she is so stunningly beautiful.
Above is a picture from one of the last birthdays we celebrated with my mom. Her birthday was often the first day of Spring, March 20th so while she is always in my heart, this time of year she is more so…and of course today on Mother’s day. Even when our moms may not be with us any longer, they are always with us. And finally, I’m able to put any sense of abandonment I felt when she left me in Grade twelve to rest. I’m at peace. I’ve written them down and let them go. As I have learned, being a mom is a tough job. I think my mom always did it with grace, dignity and lots of humour…oh and MUCH LOVE. She’s a tough act to follow!
Happy Mother’s Day mom!
Until we meet again, may you be well, happy and peaceful.
Blessings from Hope