Spring has sprung here in rural West Tennessee. The worst winter in about a decade has finally released its frosty grip on this red clay soil. What was brown and dead is now green and thriving again. There could be no better metaphor for my life as of late.
Yes, I have come back to Tennessee and, while I can’t say that I am happy about the circumstances regarding my return, I am more than happy to be home. The frosty grip has been lifted and I am thriving again even if only in very small ways.
The garden has been planted. The seeds have been sewn. The red clay soil has been worked and nutrients have been added to improve its quality. In a few seasons, if the hard work continues, it will be something to be reckoned with. There is so much promise and hope for the future.
There are other projects in the works for the fairly near future. Two tables like the one I designed and helped to build in Florida (pictured below) will be built to suit the needs of my ever-growing
extended family. Much furniture that came from my grandmothers house will receive new life. There will, of course, be pictures and details in the coming days.
Yes, there is much promise and hope for the future. I could not be more thankful for the wonderful family that I have been blessed with. I am also eternally grateful to the incredible friends that I made in Florida. Both parties encouraged me to do whatever I needed to do to achieve my dreams. I am proud to say that, while I am still a bit flighty with the desire to go and experience other things, my heart remains firmly rooted in this red clay soil.
Until next time,
This will be the first Mother’s Day in four years that I’ll be able to spend with my mom. Before now, I couldn’t bring myself to visit her grave. It hurt too bad. I haven’t been to see her since her funeral, actually, which will have been five years ago this July. This year, though, I hope things can be different.
My mom knew the triumphs and the struggles associated with being a mother better than anyone I can think of. She understood the lovey-dovey parts of being a mother to two girls as well as the traumatic and unexpected pain of losing her first child, an unborn son. She knew how it felt to struggle and succeed in raising a family in tough financial situations, but she also felt the crushing blow of being told in her early thirties that she would never again be able to carry a child. She was the mother of one child with a birth defect and another with common learning disabilities. She was a compassionate conquerer, a wise genius, and the most giving individual that I have met in my life.
This week, I am praying for all of the families and individuals who have mixed emotions – or even plain hatred – in their hearts for this holiday. I pray for all of the exhausted mothers with children, the bereaved mothers without children, the lost children without mothers, the fathers who wear two hats, and all of those who wish to become mothers but can’t.
You only get one mother. I think that’s what makes this holiday so hard for so many of us. No matter how you try to fill the hole in your heart – whether it’s a mother, grandmother, child, etc. – nothing and no one can take the place of someone you’ve lost. To those who understand, I am sorry for your pain; I know it all too well.
In spite of the pain, the loss, the longing, and the way that society tries to tell you how to feel, I do wish you all a Happy Mother’s Day.
From one motherless child to the masses in mourning,