Happy birthday, Mom!

Today is my Mom’s sixty-second birthday.

In this past year with a newborn, I’ve been remembering, thinking of, and channeling my Mom through lullabies. A new song I discovered is called ‘mantra nocturna’ – sung in an Elizabeth Mitchell album. The lyrics are:

I will be your home

I will be your guide

I will be your friend

Always at your side

Sleep now in your room

Quiet of the night

Surrounded by the moon

Till you see the light.

The lyrics are modest and clear; sung over and over in Spanish and English. As I sing the over Andrea, I realize that this is what I miss most about my Mom – how she is home to me. How as I raise my children and think of how she raises me, I realize that what I hope most for is to instill within my children a strong sense of home that is bound up in our love for one another and our love for community. My hope is that home for Asher, Moss, and Andrea feels synonymous with a bond to who Charlie and I are as their parents. My prayer is that lessons we teach them, experiences we share, culture we build up together, and personalities of each of us, become interwoven throughout their childhood so deeply that they can carry it with them throughout their lives.

And then, last October another lullaby snuck back into my repertoire. It was a crisp autumn morning and Moss had stayed home sick. Andrea was sleeping in her bassinet as Moss lay curled up in bed, looking diminished and weary. I sat there, exhausted myself from a sleepless night, trying to dig deep to find energy to comfort him. I toggled through a playlist, thinking that some gentle songs, familiar songs might bolster his spirits. I landed on a random Raffi mix and then nestled in next to Moss, wrapping him in a warmth and gently stroking his sweet head.

All of a sudden, ’The Garden Song’ started playing; it instantly grabbed my attention, as my Mom used to play a John Denver version on her guitar, but I hadn’t heard the song in over a decade. In that moment – a memory flooded my senses, and I could immediately feel myself sitting within the memory. I was a little girl, seated next to my Mom as her fingers danced across the frets and she sang the simple melody. I saw her – in the glow of her youth, strong arms and a steadfast smile, looking down on me. The return to this moment felt peaceful and sacred, and I sat there – holding Moss close as tears streamed down my check, feeling her presence suddenly deep within my tired bones – and knowing that even though she wasn’t physically present to help me as a young mother, that her love and spirit was imbued so deeply into my being.

I also sat and thought of the lyrics of the song; while my Mom never had much time for gardening, besides planting an occasional tomato plant and seasonal annual planters in the yard, I listened to the words and thought of her life’s work. I thought of how she had planted seeds in mine and my brother’s life, in the lives of her friends, and especially in the lives of her students. I thought of the rich and fertile ground – as so many that she has nurtured are now raising their own children and volunteering to work with other youth. I’ve imprinted the lyrics in my heart and mind, and now sing them over my family daily as I think about my Mom’s legacy – and about how our most important work is in the small, daily tending to that calling.

Beyond these songs, and the memories that have been bound up in them, I’ve been thinking so often of my Mom and our relationship now that I am raising my own daughter. A few weeks ago Andrea and I ventured out West for a long weekend, to go hiking in Joshua Tree with my best friend. My whole experience was permeated with my Mom’s presence, as I felt like I was walking in her footsteps – echoing how she and her best friend had taken me out West at a similarly young age.

In a recent podcast episode, Jad Abumrad beautifully described how some memories have a sense of rhyme – of taking you back to another place. So often these past months, as I grow into a relationship with Andrea, and continue on my journey as a young Mom, I find myself standing in the middle of rhyming memories – memories of songs and experience that have bound me back to my own Mom. As I think of her today and celebrate her birth, her fierce laugh, her adventurous spirit, her stubborn determination, and her sacrificial love, I am grateful for formative moments. I am grateful for the glimmer of early memories from when I was a young child and she was a new mom, and for how those memories can rhyme and reverberate throughout the lives of my children, Barb’s grandchildren.