A few years ago, my Mom died. We were a florist family; I grew up learning many of my Mom’s crafts and talents. My Mom was well-known for being a designer and too, a beautiful cook. Everything she cooked was incredible. Everything she made was wonderful. Her sense for food, taste, textures, colour was unique, thoughtful and methodical.
I am from a rural area, and my Mom was well-known. She was special. She was wise; she had a sixth-sense about people; a gut-feeling. She called it ‘seeing something at a distance’. And, she was strong. She was ‘small, but mighty’. She loved fiercely…and she did! When I was having tough times as a youngster, she would often say too me that I had ‘too much of me in her’. She watched as I struggled with my identity, my sexuality, and mostly, she simply listened to me unpack my dilemmas. She heard me struggle through the rules and dogma of a traditional faith, and a new paradigm shift of acceptance of diversity. My Mom may not have always understood me, but she relied on her many senses, and she accepted me. And she did. She always accepted me.
She always told me that I was creative, capable, and I could do, make or say anything; that I was talented, formidable and eloquent with drawings, spoken –and written– words. We had a strong family business in wedding planning, and my Mom taught me the joy of “detail”; to make it a passion; to create detail as an honour for being part of a couple’s right of passage. She encouraged my love for calligraphy, and I practiced it over and over until I developed my own artistic style on small enclosure cards. Moreover, we were lucky to share our talents to make flower tributes for community persons’ funerals, and too, honour very important rights of passage. We constantly developed colour, texture and design together; and I got to top the work off with my calligraphy. Endlessly, we discussed the importance of the customer’s experience in business; to be positive, sincere and welcoming. We sat together with local community members working through immediate loss, and later processed our own experiences together about how to be better at our work; how to contribute sincerely to our artisanship, our craft and our community.
After I felt the need to move on into my own adulthood, I left the green hills for a central city, to spread my own wings, and develop my own ‘senses’. Yet, when I made vacation-time with my family of origin, I had some meaningful heart-to-hearts with my Mom. One night at a coastal cottage, my Mom and I had a sensitive and frank discussion about death. We made peace with the fact that we will all die; but, from our work together with others’ funerals, I told my Mom I respected her life; I was glad she was my Mom; that I understood she would not always ‘be here’. My Mom responded with the same story I so often heard n my adolescence: A higher power made me, and lent me to her to provide my care; and she did it out of love for me and for her higher power.
Today, I look back at her story, and I accept from where my Mom was coming. In my own way, I have needed to rely on my own ‘sixth-sense’, so to speak. My Mom died suddenly, and now, sometimes, I easily accept that she is now gone…and sometimes, I wail alone for a day or two, because I miss her nurturing so much. I miss her presence in my life. But, this is what I do know: My Mom loved me…and she did. It was no secret; everyone who knew my Mom and who knows me knows it is a fact. I also know that what I mourned was feeling accepted and acceptable; but the gift she gave me was to accept myself in the same way she accepted me. This self-acceptance is the legacy she has left me; and, indeed, is the lesson I model and teach others every day.
My friend Jane gave me a bookmark of a mother cat perched atop a chair, watching her kitten beneath play with yarn. Jane told me that the mother cat signifies my Mom, and I will always be her kitten; she will always look out for me. I keep that bookmark posted at my bedroom door. Every day, I see that picture of the two cats, and I am reminded of my Mom. Her memory keeps me safe and secure, even through difficult times. I remember many summers at the beach with my Mom…and often, when I am seeking peace, during times when I meditate, and times I am most creative with the passionate detailing my artwork, in my mind’s eye, I am at the beach with my Mom. I am so thankful I knew this beautiful woman for the majority of my life…I am also thankful for her legacy of care and acceptance. I miss my Mom, and I think of my Mom with good memories. I am thankful we made our peace together while she was still alive. I am glad we talked openly about the men I loved in my life, and that she accepted me. It really is everything. (By Michael Best to DOSmagazine)
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official editorial on DOSmagazine.
