Let’s Not Forget

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I’ve written a couple Mother’s Day Specific Blogs in the past. You can read them HERE and HERE if you like. As a child of trauma who is mostly estranged from her adoptive mother and never knew her birth mother, it’s important to me to acknowledge that Mother’s Day is not all roses, cards and breakfast in bed for many, many of us. This is not a day of honor and joy for everyone. And there are many aspects of motherhood that go unrecognized; a day when not every mother is celebrated. The alternative and atypical mothers are left out of the picture as presented.

This year, I thought I’d write a poem. It’s definitely a rough work at the moment, but the moment is now so, here it is. Bless the mothers who are present and have gone before, but let’s not forget. 

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Let’s Not Forget

 


All Hail the Good Mothers
Mothers Remembered
The Mighty Mothers
The Struggling Mothers
The Soft Blanket Mothers
The Unyielding Mothers who Shield
With Mountains of Granite
Accommodating Mothers
Strong, Lissom and Durable
As an Old Leather Satchel
The Sheltering Tree Mothers
Oaks,Branches Stretched High
Above the Scars on their Trunks
Willows Weeping,
Caressing and Healing
Thirsty Roots Reaching
Deep into the Soil
The Hollows of Soft Earth
That Cradle, Comfort
And hide
Gratitude and Love to you


Forget not,the Unmothered Children
Children who had No Choice
No Agency
Children raised Without a Mother’s Love
Children who had to be Their Own Mothers
Children like Wild Roses
Blooming in an Urban Desert
Children with Withholding Mothers
Mothers in Name Only
A Body made for Nurture
Armed with a Razor blade Tongue
Hands that Burned Everything they touched
An Acid Embrace
Absent Mothers
Addicted Mothers
Lost Mothers
Unknown Mothers.
May Gentle Arms enfold those who Suffered the Unmother


Forget Not the Broken Hearted
Whose Mothers are Losing a battle
Right Now
Whose Mothers have Died, perhaps Recently
And Everyone Around them Thinks
They Should be Over it already
Mothers Grieved
The Almost Mothers who Dream of a Child they will never bear
Or a Child they had to Choose not to bear
Mothers Who Mourn a child that ceased to be
Grief is Not Convenient
It has No Schedule
It Slips Away and Boomerangs Back
Surprise!
The Boulder of Grief Heavily Grinds in the chest
Aches in every Bone and Breath
Until it Eases
May the Stone someday become a Feather


Forget Not, the Alternative Mothers
The Untraditional Mothers
The Not Hallmark-Perfect
Picture-Perfect Mothers
The Single Mothers
The Double Mothers
The Not Cis Mothers
The Poly Mothers
The Takes A Village Mothers
“Aunties” of all Stripes and Genders
The Dad Mothers
Mentor Mothers
Nurturing the Child of Another
Perhaps the Child of a Stranger
The I’m Just gonna do what Needs to be done
Mothers
May Respect and Love Shine Upon You!


Let’s Shout some Praise for the Unexpected
The Pseudo Mothers
The Creatrix Mothers
Who chose, instead
Or in Addition to
To be Mothers
Of Art, Of Ideas,
Of Science
Mothers of Invention
Mothers who have given Birth
To Words
Spawning entire Worlds
And then,
The Zoo Mothers
Cross Species Adopters
With Children of Scale, Fur and Wing
Mothers to Cats and Rabbits and Dragons
To Creatures Hairy and Scary
All those who made Unpopular
Unconventional Choices
That Make a Better World
Bravo, Three Cheers for You!


There’s Always more than One Answer
Let All the Mothers have Their Day
Let it Rain down Flowers,
Cards and Accolades
And Send out some Compassion
Amplify the View
For Many, this Day is an Ocean of Knives
The Deep Soul sucking kiss of Loss
The Tattoo of a Heart marked by Years of Starvation
A House Built of Sorrow
Room by Room
Erasure by Tradition
Hetero-Normative Invisibility
Well, I say, Damn the Norm!


While you Laud the Ideal
Of Mother as Supreme nurturer
Forget Not, the Orphans
The Mourners
The Misanthropes
The Atypicals
Save for them a Cup of your Empathy
Pull on your Inner-Mom boots and ask yourself
Who really NEEDS my nurturing today?
Drop them
A Note
A Virtual Hug
A Poem
A Kindness
Let them know you SEE them
And All the Glory of their
Immeasurable Value
Depth of Bereavement
Loneliness
Wistful Contemplation
Difference
Remembrance

Let’s Not forget

 

It wasn’t my fault…..line; oh yeah, it was!

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2018-01-27_12.54.32In which Captain Merphlepoof sleeps through an earthquake, Lorelei spends half this blog naked, there is some unnecessary meanness, but Nurse Practitioner’s Rule and so do Social Workers!

Sometimes insomnia is a blessing. On January fourth, 2018, while early-to-bedders were startled awake in the dark by the earth shaking their beds, I had all my lights on and was wide awake for the roll. My cat slept through it though. She is getting old after all. She used to be a very efficient early warning system. It wasn’t a huge quake, though it felt further up the scale than it actually was since this time it was close. It was also long and loud, I watched my furniture sway while my bed, my solid redwood bed, shook for about 20 seconds. If it hadn’t been deep, I suspect there would have been damage. The worst part for someone with C.P.T.S.D. is the sound. It was loud. It roared and grumbled. Inside the apartment, it sounded like things were breaking, but nothing was damaged. If it had been less of a roller and more of a throwing things up and down, that might have been different!

Because I was awake and had my lights on, I was impressed, but fairly unconcerned. I had exited the shower only about ten minutes earlier, another lucky break, and was sprawled on my bed naked. When the walls started to groan, I should have jumped up and thrown something on, but as the earth’s crust rolled to a stop, I sat still waiting to see if it was going to start up again. It felt like a pre-shock. I’ve been there before. And as I sat there in all my vulnerable glory, my Kindle started to ping as the flood of Facebook posts came in: Earthquake? Did you feel that? EARTHQUAKE!! That had to have been at least a 5! And soon the magnitude and location started being posted, and then the adjusted magnitude of 4.4.

26172839_10209870398387818_3866016165342914805_oTwenty minutes later, I was still au natural, one eye on Facebook, the other on my tall shelves, in case they started to sway again, ears perked for stony growls. It crossed my mind that perhaps a good aftershock was needed, at least to motivate me to put pajamas on. It would have served me right if I had had to run out in the hallway, but lucky for the neighbors, I didn’t. Merph was still sleeping soundly. Finally, she awoke and stretched with a chirp.

People were posting about their dogs freaking out. Merph yawns and says, “Meeeer Ma Meh” which translates to, “Pfft. Dogs. Such cowards! I do not bother to wake up for less than a 5.5. Pet me.” 

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I was still getting notifications about the earthquake an hour later. I’m still awake, because I would be anyway, but I now had an extra layer of anxiety.

The feed is homogeneous, except for one stray housing listing.

My feed looked like this:

“earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake” LOOK! This is very EXCITING! It’s a HOUSING POST at a rate I CAN AFFORD!

The earthquake was in Berkeley. Someone in Berkeley is NOT posting about the earthquake. WTF?  Oh, BUT WAIT! The WTF’s don’t stop there!
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Another Mothers Day Blog

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I don’t have the spoons to write a big Mother’s Day blog this year.

Mother’s Day is one of the rough ones for me. Honestly, ALL of the, “in your face commercialized holidays” are rough when you have painful family issues. It’s probably just as well, I’m still recovering and slept through the whole day. I missed most of the cheery, teary sugar and schmaltz and that’s just fine with me.

Some people I know and care about lost moms recently. Some have mothers who had health scares or were in the hospital this year. I want to send extra love to those who are missing their mothers and to those for whom Mother’s Day has extra meaning because they weren’t sure there mother’s would be here this year.

 
As always, I want to acknowledge those for whom Mother’s Day hurts because their relationship with their mother is/was difficult, terrible or absent. I want to acknowledge those mother’s who pulled out all the stops to love and protect their child but lost them anyway through death, drugs, mental illness or just emotional distance. I want to shout out to all the heroic parents who have had to be both Mom and Dad to their kids. And I want to give a big hug to all those Moms whose kids happen to be furry, feathered or scaled. You aren’t less than because you chose to nurture a pet rather than pop out a hooman. You have your reasons. It’s cool. Maternal love doesn’t discriminate.

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Some Thoughts About Motivation

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I am, as Carrie Fisher used to say about herself, an over-sharer. I have been jokingly referred to as, the Queen of T.M.I. I share liberally and personally. I process out loud, frequently about my health issues, how I wrestle with depression, anxiety and PTSD, abuse I have taken the brunt of, family, life experiences.

Sometimes people balk or take offense at this. They tell me it’s too personal, that I should keep it to myself, that what I share is inappropriate for Facebook or a blog. This used to be something that occurred more frequently. But now, I think the people who were offended have gotten used to it, given up or it’s just finally sunk in, why it is appropriate.

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I do it for me.

I learned a long time ago that returning the shame to the person it actually belongs to, means no more secrets and no more silence. I don’t have to name names, but speaking about my experience out loud makes it real, makes it less painful and it means I am no longer a conspirator. I separate myself from the person who put me through the trauma and become the person surviving it. Why should I be ashamed for what was done to me (or for the resulting life issues) or worry about embarrassing the perpetrator? I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed and embarrassed about. That shame belongs to them! Continue reading