I dreaded returning to my childhood home for visits the year following my father’s death. During my daily life I could manage to float through each day in a bereavement fog, enveloped in my grief, but without any major triggers. A trip home meant being reminded of the loss 24/7.
One of the most difficult parts was getting used to the shock of not seeing my father at the train station to pick me up. Every time I visited I could feel my steps slowing down as I walked to the station from the train. By the time I got on the escalator for the final ascent to the station I would be near tears, struggling to breathe around the weight building in my chest. I would emerge and not see him. It started off every visit on a bad note. I was instantly cranky and upset.
Once my mother understood this, she made sure that she was there at the top of the escalator to run interference and greet me. She would swoop over to hug me before the shock of not seeing my father had a chance to settle. It was a small gesture, but one that touched me deeply. And over time, helped to heal the hurt by creating new memories.
More than a decade later, I’m continually reminded of this small, silent action of my mother’s because I see that she is always doing nice things for me out of love. I think moms have a special knack for hearing their baby’s cries, no matter what age.
A friend and I discussed this the other week. He was about to participate in a special tribute concert to Prince as part of the choir. He wondered if his mom would be able to hear his voice out of the crowd. I remarked how proud I was of my mother because she could always hear me in the orchestra (~60-70 people). I attributed this to the long years she suffered through listening to my practice sessions, a real testament of her love.
But my friend had a different thought. He said of course she could hear my “voice” in the orchestra and compared the situation to a colony of penguins. To our ears, thousands of penguins communicating all sound the same, but parents and chicks are easily able to recognize their distinctive calls and find each other in the crowd.
Happy Mother’s Day!
Dedicated to Mom, and all the mothers of the world.
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