Motherhood and Letting Go

 

Maybe I’ll blog, I think with no real intention (again) of putting effort behind the thought. But then, today, I read the blog of a “friend”–basically someone I met while studying for my MFA- whose words have always touched me in ways I can’t explain. Today they made me cry while I read them. You can find them here: https://www.peninmyhand.com/single-post/2018/02/13/Wildflowers

Krista writes of wildflowers, winters, waiting for spring, and finding beauty in the unconventional–weeds.

Again, I can’t explain it, but they made me cry, and then want to share my own words. That is the power of words. We are moved by them. When not moved I feel they have failed us in some way. When used by a talented writer they inspire, enrage, make us laugh, cry, but they find a way to move us.

Reading of Krista’s wildflowers made me think of family. Sometimes I feel that is what we represent, a garden of wildflowers, but not planted by a landscaper, rather a bunch of seeds tossed together, and we wait to see what blossoms each spring. We are a mixed bag of step/blood/foster and adopted. Each a different bud striving to reach the sunlight and blossom into a beautiful plant. A cactus that doesn’t take much tending, but still thirsts for love and, when received, continues to thrive and stand tall against all kinds of weather and drought.  Others that need constant attention…too much they wilt…too little they die…just the right amount of nurturing and they become vibrant and colorful. A rose bush covered in thorns, but if you’re willing to carefully tend, and reach between the thorns, a blossom full of scented life is your reward. Others that grow willy nilly and shower our lives with intensity and zing.

Each brings a beauty and fills a hole. Each support one another at times, at others we have to carefully pull them away so they don’t strangle the needs of the others, or overpower them into disappearing.

I didn’t always succeed as the landscaper. At times I overwatered, underwatered, let too many weeds in, or tore off too many buds. However our garden continues to thrive…in spite of me. Today our garden is more empty than full as our children have grown, married and moved on to begin their own nurseries. So, when I think of Krista’s words, and her standing at her sink, I’m moved, and reminded, as our garden expands, my job may just have become to sit back, and enjoy what blossoms each spring, too.