A beautiful lady. I’ve always felt my Mom resembles the actress and playwright, Isabella Rossellini.
It used to drive me crazy as a teen.
“Tell me what you think, Mom. What should I do?”
Mom would set aside her paint brush, focus her dark eyes upon mine and shrug.
Her comment was always,
“It doesn’t matter what I think; it’s what you think that counts. Think for yourself.”
Brush strokes filled a canvas.
Think for yourself. Three words that held power. Wielding clout to the choices I made.
It was my responsibility to stand at the crossroad and choose the right path. Successes and failures were mine alone to shoulder.
Mother insisted I decide my fate. There were moments in life when I begged her~ tell me, guide me, shield me, and help me. Anything, as I stood alone at the intersection called Life, and clutched an empty suitcase.
“Buck up,” she’d say, “Life’s not a party and it sure as hell isn’t fair.”
Her words, sage lyrics spoken from the heart of a beautiful, brave woman. A lady who learned late the skill set necessary to navigate through the unpredictable forests of life. She understood I was ill prepared, too fearful to fly. So she pushed me.
When lost, my mother’s words take the helm and whisper, Think for yourself. I promise you, the answer is within. Automatically my compass resets.
The Universe sets us down, gives us what we need to deal, in a lifetime. A talisman of courage when we cower, a nudge to stand tall when another breaks us down, the sparkle of beauty amidst ruins and light to shine through darkness.
This Mother’s Day I honour you, Mom. I learned to fly.
