Mother, Child

What compels us to create them?

Do we call on them out of our own need or do we respond to their need to come to earth?

Does the truth lie somewhere between the two?

Is being a mother the equivalent of being a vessel in servitude of volatile life?

As parents are we the teachers of our children or are we the students of our children or are we both?

These are questions I have spent much time and space contemplating. I did not contemplate any of this before the birth of my eight children. It wasn’t until I was pregnant with my youngest child that I began to consider these questions on a much deeper level. Instinctively I felt that much of the dogma I had believed and regurgitated was not matching the experience I was having being a mother. I have spent the majority of my life being a mother. I first entered into the realm of motherhood at the age of fifteen. Although there were people who assured me that I was going to be a “good mother” because I carried what they believed to be a motherly spirit, I quickly learned that having a motherly spirit and being the vessel of someone’s life are two completely different things. I do believe that they can co-exist but often times, especially in my case, they do not. To me having what is considered a motherly spirit is having a natural urge and inclination to nurture. Giving birth is not a requirement of having a motherly spirit. On the other hand, the act of carrying and birthing naturally makes one a mother. Even if her last breath is taken while in childbirth we do not negate the title, “mother”.

So, there I was a very young blooming woman, having much experience with changing diapers and talking sweetly to babies trying to make the connection to the tiny person I was holding in my arms. This person who had just spent thirty four and a half weeks in my body growing a body of her own. This person whose presence in my body caused what felt like complete havoc. My motherly spirit did not kick in but something else did indeed awaken inside of me almost instantly. I had no word for it at the time I experienced it, but it felt like a mixture of fear and desperation. I knew that I would move heaven and earth for the well being of this tiny person. The clarity of that understanding scared me. As I fumbled around, trying my best to care for the tiny person and keep her safe and learn what pleased her and what caused her distress, what I was having was a personal human connection. Although I was making the majority of the decisions in her life, it was clear to me that she was her own self with her own ways even at such a young age. Her wishes and her desires were not mine. It was the first time I felt such deep love for someone other than myself.

The lessons that my first child brought to me were that having a motherly spirit is not enough of a preparation for motherhood. I learned that human life is sacred and each person is here operating within their own free will even at their youngest age. I learned that it is possible to truly love outside of your own self serving egotistical understanding of love. I learned that loving that deeply awakens vulnerability and that can be a very scary feeling.

As time moved on and I continued on my path of carrying and birthing, countless lessons were learned. Each child brought with them a key that opened a different door to the inner workings of my heart that I never even knew existed. From the way they were conceived to the relationships that we have formed with each other, I have been learning. The lessons they teach have been lessons of the heart and not of the head. The lessons could never be learned in a book or taught in a school because every lesson is personal. Some things are difficult to face because they call on me to surrender. Oftentimes I have to surrender preconceived notions of what good parenting is. My children are the gatekeepers of my truth. They are always forcing me and pushing me to search deeper inside of my heart for what is truly there. They are always loving and exceptionally forgiving of my many shortcomings. They teach me that love comes in many forms. The list of things I have learned to appreciate because of them is endless.

Although I am their mother. I have grown to understand that their lives are truly their own. It can be so deceiving because of how deeply I love them, it feels like on some level I am going through what they are going through. I have recognized that this is not the case. What I am feeling in relationship to what they are going through in life is of my own creation. It carries its own set of emotions and is rooted in the fertile soil of my own life. The truth of this lesson came in the most difficult form when my eighteen year old daughter died due to a vehicular accident. If there was ever a time I felt like I was going through death, it was then. I felt like I had experienced death. What I have come to realize is that I am going through the loss of one of the loves of my life through the process of natural death. My daughter actually lost her life on this earth. She began a journey that I have yet to travel and I could not go with her there because it is simply not my time. My work on this earth is not completed although hers was. As difficult as it can be at times I am still responsible to live on this earth. It is a choice she no longer has in her human form.