Of The Silence of Mothers, A Daughter’s Yearning, and Gratitude …

by nemoegero

Learning something about a mother, who was not forward in sharing about herself allows deeper insight into those hidden aspects of ourselves as her daughter.

The yearning to know more about a mother who has hidden herself, kept secret her inner life, speaks to our desire to connect, both with our mother and ourselves.

If our mother has died, like mine who passed on nearly two decades ago, we have lost a most direct line of knowledge. But all is not forsaken. Not by a long shot.

The very fact that our mother died keeping all close to her chest speaks volumes. It tells us that we must dig, harder, farther and without fail to understand those elusive aspects of ourselves.

Meditation, expressing creativity in those areas such as painting, writing, even music provide pathways on which we can begin to know ourselves unfettered by the interruptions of our mother.

Yes, there is, if we choose to reframe our situation, a silver lining to having had a mother who kept things about herself under the lock and key of her silence and/or denial.

She has bequeathed us a gift similar to that of the orphan.

This is not to say that orphans have it great, nor to deny the pain we have experienced in not being able to draw close to our mothers.

And yet so much of life is about accepting and giving thanks for what life had presented us, trusting all the while that forces greater than ourselves are at hand and weaving the patterns of our lives to a destiny greater than we can behold with physical sight.

So much of our mothers’ silences and withdrawal, either emotional of physical, their retreats from us, rest with their lack of faith and belief, both in themselves, the purpose and meaning of their lives and living, and the divine or celestial hands at work beyond that which we can comprehend.

In our search to connect we, their daughters must acknowledge our limitations as well as theirs.

Our mothers could not, for various reasons, speak what we longed to hear.

But the words or their silence are not lost. Our ears do not have to be deaf to what they have spoken to. Their actions plant a message that resounds louder than any words can deliver.

If only we, their daughters, can sit in the silence of our hearts’ yearning and hear the beating of our souls.

It is in the rhythm of desire that all that has passed, is and will be appears clear and delineated.

We have but to see and accept.

My mother spoke what she could. That which she carried with her into the next life is where it was to remain.

She, like me, was a person, not simply my mother, but an individual trying to make her way through this life.

The greatest role she played in my life, was providing me a portal of entrance into life on the planet earth.

For that I am grateful.

At 53 years old I realize these truths.

Embracing them I am free to live my life.