Spending afternoons in the fresh tilled dirt with her cars & little houses of stone.
The day was left to her. She could wander into the open fields, get lost in the old horse corral, walk along the canal or ride her bike in the spud shed.
With reassurance that breakfast was at 9 which usually consisted of grandma's home made butter horns.
Warm with butter melted on top. Her grandfather always sat to the left of her with his cup of coffee and tall glass of water, no ice.
Lunch~ around noon which was usually some kind of sandwich and soup. Somedays, depending largely on the weather, was grilled cheese sandwiches and home made tomato soup or tuna fish sandwiches and lays potato chips on the side.
Thursdays evenings when her grandmother would be held up late at their restaurant, she and her grandfather would have dinner by candlelight. They called it Pinkie~Light. Because with such ambiance, you had to eat with your pinkie out! No exceptions!
Her Grandpa would microwave T.V dinners and together in the candle light they would eat and giggle, and be silly all the while...pinky's out.
Days that seemed to never change came and went like yesterday's rain.
At eighteen she would move away from home and meet a sweet mountain boy.
Still so very young and eager to begin their life, they would marry.
Days before she turned twenty they would welcome a new addition to their very young life and all the innocence and care free days of childhood would be laid to rest.
Today, the idea is to wait to marry and have a family after you've had all your fun. Perhaps after you've lived your life and experienced great and wonderful things.
She, who was wed and captivated from simplified version of young adulthood, would approach situations of her new life from a different perspective.
Perhaps seeing incidents through the eyes of a child, still.
Perhaps encountering times with such vulnerability & niativity.
Having arrived so soon from childhood to adulthood, she would treat her children in such a way that would exemplify her own feelings and relation to youth.
She knew what if felt like to be scolded for seemingly minor mishaps. So very well and not so long ago remembering what it felt like to be put into third or fourth.
She recalled the raw open wound of having been shuffled from one home to another, many
nights waking to wonder where she was.
In the kitchen when she was chin deep in dishes and thoughts, her young child would approach her and ask in his little tot voice if she could play with him.
She looked down and for an instant she was close to scolding that she was busy and he needed to wait.
Having lived with mothers and grandmothers who put work ahead of relationship, morphing from such a strong way of life into complete opposite, she turned down the faucet, wiped her soapy hands dry, and knelt down the the blonde boy.
Smiling she said, "I will. Should we play Thomas or Farm?"
The dishes could wait. The guests that she was sure would unexpectadly arrive at any given moment while her house was unfrailed, would understand. And never came.
He is eleven and leaving primary school in three short weeks. His days of youth are passing at rapid pace. Her days of his childhood are fading from reality to memory.
What are his memories of his mother going to be? What shall he reply when his wife, someday, asks him to describe his mother and his childhood?
What are her memories going to be of such a precious and irriplacable time?
Is there going to be overwhelming regret?
Did she enjoy those day to day moments turned years with joy and happiness?
Or was most of those minutes, turned hours turned days wasted on herself?
Wasted in Self?
Squandered in self loathing, self desires...wasted in own self torment?
Allowing he who dwells in the dark to captivate her thoughts.
Allowing the dark to override and hide the light.
Will these take hold of his childhood highlights for both he and I? Such as:
~His love for fresh out of the oven cinnamon rolls.
Our treasured evenings spent at our favorite book store.
The occasional splurge on Lattes, even though I KNOW he doesn't need espresso.
The gift of his love for reading, writing and creating.
Our summer bike rides.
The lit up face when Uncrustables are discovered in the fridge.
His longing and desire to do what is right. What is honorable.
His sense of humor.
Sweet memories he holds in his heart for his late grandfather.
Days spent hunting bunnies resulting in beloved little pets.
Long ago, afternoons of nap time stories.
~~~
These are the questions she asks herself as she lays awake through out the deep nights trying to find comfort and the reassurance she needs to close this narrow door of primary adolescence.
Is she ready to walk through the slightly opened door of this new chapter of his childhood?
Can she look back and say "this time was spent well."
Or will she find no rest in the pondering of what could have been.
She feels as though she is a child once again. That ever thoughtful, auburn haired girl. With sadness always by her side. Remembering so many times the feelings of loneliness and changing times. Today she can still feel the winds of change. They call, they come, they change everything once thought of as normal and familiar, into everything different.
Is this what the beginning stages of letting go feels like?
A time that seemed never~ending is in fact ending.
My mothers' heart aches and cries.
She want to hold on. I want to cleave to this fleeting time.
they sit there... in the stillness, in the now.
Thanks for reading with me :D
The day was left to her. She could wander into the open fields, get lost in the old horse corral, walk along the canal or ride her bike in the spud shed.
With reassurance that breakfast was at 9 which usually consisted of grandma's home made butter horns.
Warm with butter melted on top. Her grandfather always sat to the left of her with his cup of coffee and tall glass of water, no ice.
Lunch~ around noon which was usually some kind of sandwich and soup. Somedays, depending largely on the weather, was grilled cheese sandwiches and home made tomato soup or tuna fish sandwiches and lays potato chips on the side.
Thursdays evenings when her grandmother would be held up late at their restaurant, she and her grandfather would have dinner by candlelight. They called it Pinkie~Light. Because with such ambiance, you had to eat with your pinkie out! No exceptions!
Her Grandpa would microwave T.V dinners and together in the candle light they would eat and giggle, and be silly all the while...pinky's out.
Days that seemed to never change came and went like yesterday's rain.
At eighteen she would move away from home and meet a sweet mountain boy.
Still so very young and eager to begin their life, they would marry.
Days before she turned twenty they would welcome a new addition to their very young life and all the innocence and care free days of childhood would be laid to rest.
Today, the idea is to wait to marry and have a family after you've had all your fun. Perhaps after you've lived your life and experienced great and wonderful things.
She, who was wed and captivated from simplified version of young adulthood, would approach situations of her new life from a different perspective.
Perhaps seeing incidents through the eyes of a child, still.
Perhaps encountering times with such vulnerability & niativity.
Having arrived so soon from childhood to adulthood, she would treat her children in such a way that would exemplify her own feelings and relation to youth.
She knew what if felt like to be scolded for seemingly minor mishaps. So very well and not so long ago remembering what it felt like to be put into third or fourth.
She recalled the raw open wound of having been shuffled from one home to another, many
nights waking to wonder where she was.
She looked down and for an instant she was close to scolding that she was busy and he needed to wait.
Having lived with mothers and grandmothers who put work ahead of relationship, morphing from such a strong way of life into complete opposite, she turned down the faucet, wiped her soapy hands dry, and knelt down the the blonde boy.
Smiling she said, "I will. Should we play Thomas or Farm?"
The dishes could wait. The guests that she was sure would unexpectadly arrive at any given moment while her house was unfrailed, would understand. And never came.
He is eleven and leaving primary school in three short weeks. His days of youth are passing at rapid pace. Her days of his childhood are fading from reality to memory.
What are his memories of his mother going to be? What shall he reply when his wife, someday, asks him to describe his mother and his childhood?
What are her memories going to be of such a precious and irriplacable time?
Is there going to be overwhelming regret?
Did she enjoy those day to day moments turned years with joy and happiness?
Or was most of those minutes, turned hours turned days wasted on herself?
Wasted in Self?
Squandered in self loathing, self desires...wasted in own self torment?
Allowing he who dwells in the dark to captivate her thoughts.
Allowing the dark to override and hide the light.
Will these take hold of his childhood highlights for both he and I? Such as:
~His love for fresh out of the oven cinnamon rolls.
Our treasured evenings spent at our favorite book store.
The occasional splurge on Lattes, even though I KNOW he doesn't need espresso.
The gift of his love for reading, writing and creating.
Our summer bike rides.
The lit up face when Uncrustables are discovered in the fridge.
His longing and desire to do what is right. What is honorable.
His sense of humor.
Sweet memories he holds in his heart for his late grandfather.
Days spent hunting bunnies resulting in beloved little pets.
Long ago, afternoons of nap time stories.
~~~
These are the questions she asks herself as she lays awake through out the deep nights trying to find comfort and the reassurance she needs to close this narrow door of primary adolescence.
Is she ready to walk through the slightly opened door of this new chapter of his childhood?
Can she look back and say "this time was spent well."
Or will she find no rest in the pondering of what could have been.
She feels as though she is a child once again. That ever thoughtful, auburn haired girl. With sadness always by her side. Remembering so many times the feelings of loneliness and changing times. Today she can still feel the winds of change. They call, they come, they change everything once thought of as normal and familiar, into everything different.
Is this what the beginning stages of letting go feels like?
A time that seemed never~ending is in fact ending.
My mothers' heart aches and cries.
She want to hold on. I want to cleave to this fleeting time.
~
She clutches his hand, once so small now as big as hers,they sit there... in the stillness, in the now.
Thanks for reading with me :D
