Parent and Child, Part 1
One Side of the Coin
Adults often ask children what they want to be when they grow up. Some years ago I posed this question to an eight-year-old. In a nanosecond she shot back, “famous.” I glanced at her mother. Who knows? Maybe mom wanted the same thing at that age. What she got was devotion to her daughter. This single mom held multiple jobs at the same time she was getting a university degree and raising her child. It sounds impossible, heroic. Her sacrifices for that child reminded me of the unsung potato that receives little celebrity for its life-supporting sustenance (see what happened when there were no potatoes during the famine that started in 1845.) This poem likens that life to a sustaining one of doing without and dealing with challenges while still enjoying occasional fun and celebrations, underpinned throughout by love and laughter. Imagine the depth of that love:
Giving Life
It was a meal of mashed potatoes,
unevenly caressed with butter,
hiding lumps and sink holes,
served upon a plastic platter.
Laid upon a common table
spare of cutlery and frills,
a few exotic bottle labels,
more erratic stains and spills.
An unheralded event
unnoticed by dismissive time,
a hearty source of nourishment
for those who gathered to imbibe.
Then imagine this:
The Sock Drawer She has an invisible drawer of phantom socks. Pairs of metaphors for captured vignettes of their shared moments in colors quiet or bold befitting the stories they hold. Not aligned chronologically but strewn haphazardly, untethered to linear time, ready for her random recall. Pressing one against her cheek, she replays its scene and smiles or weeps. They were a matched pair until her child was snatched away, too young. A life gone, but not done. As she wails at this half-empty drawer the colors leach into its darkness and her life drains to pastel.
She’s fallen into a yawning void, literally doubled over in pain. The raw, rough edges of her anguish may smooth with time but she never again will be whole. The distractions of daily life may give her a respite from the heart-shredding pain of her loss, but in the quiet alone times, her throat chokes shut and her spine bends forward from the weight of her child’s absence. It happens to millions. If you are one of them, I hope you find a way to acceptance, peace, and purpose.
Now, back to that eight-year-old introduced at the beginning of this article. She’s grown into a young lady with a radiant soul emanating from a gentle presence. She doesn’t need to seek the limelight. She is the light. Do you think her mother had anything to do with that?
The next installment in this 2-part article will be subtitled The Other Side of the Coin because, to many, the fateful flip of a coin can seemingly determine who experiences a loving parent/child relationship and who does not.
Author’s Note: In depicting these stories people share with me, words are my artist’s medium. Whether a story is written by me or a guest author, you may relate to one of them. If so, what a pleasure to think it might enhance your fellowship in our caring Arts & Culture community.
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