It's too messy to contain in a calendar box but, yes, motherhood is worth celebrating and honoring always. Mother's Day, not just a hallmark holiday but an ancient celebration to honor the mother of gods. And why not? Why only deify men? Why not embrace everything about women, everything about mothers, everything about life.
Life is messy.
Straight lines don't exist in nature as much as we try to bend her to our needs. Instead everywhere you look--from water to wind, soil to trees, from Fish creek to Hurricane Katrina, the Grand Canyon to a willow tree-- you see spirals.
Circles overlaying circles overlaying circles of memory, movement, time--no straight lines from A to B, from being a daughter to a mom.
Its crazy messy.
With blood. Especially, with blood. With the women who give us life, we rip and tear, and still, we want them whole. We want them to fulfill our every need as if they weren't children once too.
As if they didn't ever want the same thing. As if they didn't have mommy's.
The truth is I call my mom every week, if not more, not because I have to but because I want to tell her the details of my day. I want her to know my stories. I want to hear her voice. I want to find out about old friends and the places I have been.
We spoke earlier today, after she returned from Alumni day at Taft, the boarding school where I spent my childhood. She told me sad news.
They chopped down the giant willow tree from my backyard.
An old tree with thick low roots that held us like a hand so we could climb, sit, or swing. Or discover who we were in the social realm with games like house, spaceship, or war.
"They cut down the willow tree," I told Nick as tears welled on the last words.
Without a pause he knew which tree I meant. He thought about it and said, "So its really not your home anymore."
And he's right its not. I moved away at 17. My parents retired (after 31 years) and moved to the Cape when I still lived in Maine. But still. I will always be the girl who loved that tree. Who named her horse swing Lilly of the Valley. Who fell on her back from the top rung of the rope ladder. Who claimed her favorite spot in the tree when playing with friends. Who played in that tree for hours. Hours. And its gone.
Replaced by a white picket fence.
But you see, I've been holding onto those branches for years. If I'm lucky I'll still have them if I live to be a grandma. I may be a mother in Alaska but I am my mother's daughter in the shade of that giant Willow.
"Say night night to mama" Elias said earlier, just like I once did, and my mom, and hers, circles overlaying circles overlaying circles.
I got the call last week from my mother that they had a magnolia tree in their front yard cut down. This tree has always been at the house according to my memory - my parents planted it early in their married life, 30+ years ago. It's not a tree I paid much attention to; except for a few early years when my father threatened to cut it down unless it bloomed. And bloom it did. In my memories, it frames the left side of the house. When it was planted, their landscaping was small and they needed another tree. Time passed and the tree grew and other plants grew, and the driveway was extended to make a loop in the yard not too far from the trunk, and now the tree is too big, too messy, and my mother can no longer reach the blooms which saved it so many years ago (because the lower limbs had to be cut off to allow room for the driveway). It was time for it to go.
My mother says taking the tree out has allowed a great deal of light back into their bedroom. Light that they gradually lost as the tree grew, gone so slowly they didn't even realize it was no longer there.
I am struck that the magnolia tree is like some of these thoughts, assumptions, ideas which make up our internal landscapes, and which we outgrow and need to discard to make for newer, younger, more appropriate thoughts, assumptions and ideas - things that living with Elias have made you question and that you have generously shared with those who read this blog.
Thank you - even those of us who are not personally sharing your experience can use the reminders to check our own internal landscapes for outgrown and outdated conceptions, things which have grown and are blocking our light without our even realizing it.
(sorry for the long post)
Posted by: Virginia Gal | May 14, 2007 at 06:23 AM
Happy belated mother's day Christy. I am still reading and so admire what you share. Your story brought back such a vivid memory for me. A few years ago when visiting my mother in NJ, we saw that the the "over-a-hundred-year-old" oak tree which was the hallmark of Princeton Battle Field, had to be cut down. Similar story to yours....so many of us had climbed, played games around it, had wedding pictures taken beneath it, etc. and now it's gone, but they did plant some of it's branches for another cycle...a re-birth. Hope you enjoyed your mother's day.
Posted by: mae ann | May 14, 2007 at 07:08 AM
Virginia, no apology needed, I loved the idea of our internal landscape needing to be cleared to make room for new world views, it puts a different angle on the loss of the willow tree, one with hope. Thank you for sharing the story of the Magnolia tree that bloomed in time to extend its stay. Beautiful.
And Mae Ann, boy do we miss you, its not the same without our weekly visits that were therapy in the disguise of warm conversations. Thanks for reading and sharing about the old oak tree. This willow might have been a hundred years old too and my mom thinks it may have been cut down because the grounds crew didn't like mowing around the big ol' roots or maybe it really was dying and it was just its time to go...to make room for something new. I would have chosen more willows over a white picket fence but I tend to dream outside the box. Happy Mothers Day to you too.
Posted by: Christy | May 14, 2007 at 08:31 PM
God, I remember that willow tree so well. All the fun (and fights) we had in her branches. I know how much you loved that tree. As I read your blog, I kept thinking about my favorite children's book, The Giving Tree. If you haven't read it recently (or at all), you should now.
Posted by: Alexandra Heidinger | May 15, 2007 at 08:09 AM
Al, I started to write about our fights, and you almost walking home with me in tears at the top of the hill, but there was too much of a back-story to it for this post. When Elias wakes from his nap I'll check to see if we have A Giving Tree. That was my favorite book as a kid-- probably because it was yours:) Miss you my old friend.
Posted by: Christy | May 15, 2007 at 02:29 PM
They cut down my tree last week and I cried a little too. Not only is it in my heart but I made a hook rug of it. Now I just have to find it. Or pretend that Ill find it. I was never good with goodbyes.
Posted by: That Girl | May 18, 2007 at 02:59 PM
Once I start reading your blog, Christy, I can't stop....I just read Mae Ann's comments about the tree in her life. I have a special tree, too. I used to hide in it and read for hours. My mom would call for me and I would never come down until she had gone to the backyard looking for me. I would then decend the old oak tree and sneak around to mom. She never knew my secret hiding spot until we had moved out of the family home and I was home with our first son. We drove by the ole family home and I started crying. I stopped the car, got out and climbed the tree again, without any concern that the now-owners might come out and scream at me. They didn't, I stopped crying, my mom was laughing and my 9 mo old son was saying "up, mama, up". I put him in the back pack and climbed up the tree with him and sat on my special perch. I was happy. My tree was still there!!
Enough of trees. Stories of butterflies and not saying goodbye ring true to my heart. Tents, cousins, playing, and mamamamamama also ring a bell. The three of you pull on my heartstrings. I miss all of you and know that today you are biking!!! Enjoy your adventures. I want a signed autograph of your first book, ok!!! More later and hugs, Mary
Posted by: Mary Pomeroy | June 04, 2007 at 12:13 PM