Cracked

Mothers know things beyond the realm of understanding. My mom called me immediately after work and whispered things that only resonate with their children. They woo the things that only the two of you could ever know. I asked my son the other day if I ever told him about the story, “ and don’t you forget it?” He had not. At some point in time before I was eight, Mom and I went to a store in an unfamiliar area. A man was looming about this particular establishment, muttering to himself. He half followed us on our way in and loomed around us on the way out. His mutterings were low, but just before we got into the vehicle, he bellowed, “ And don’t you forget it!” What it was we were not suppose to forget, we were never told, but the phrase stuck. Several times over the years one of us would bellow to the other this same phrase. It locks us to an untold story, a puzzle we will never solve.

Mothers are like that, completing puzzles, sharing parts of stories that only we know. Half bits, whole bits, the only ones that know all of our untold bits. Mothering can be thankless, and hard, maybe even have us part ways. Travelling through our lives on alternate journeys. They do know us, feel that or not, it is okay. When I turned sixteen, Momma asked me if my bags were packed. Not the birthday greeting I expected for my sweet sixteen. I stared at her blankly until she explained my constant promise through the tough years of leaving at sixteen. Sometimes you horrify yourself when held accountable to your past.

Life goes on, growth happens, paths separate numerous times in our lifetimes. Families, divorce, death, illness all complicate our journeys all the time. Life is messy, perhaps you shut down, or maybe move on. Your focus is not focus but someone or something keeps you tethered. Celebrate every win, move past the negative. Somewhere in the dark, someone bellows… “And don’t you forget it” and it grounds you, brings you full circle to carry on.