My mother…

The time cannot take away all images, moments lived and emotions, although she does not remember anything else — she has Alzheimer’s Syndrome lost in a dark hole her memory speaks for herself… 

She was a stronghold, a wall, and her faith nurtured herself with hope, at that time I could not understand her with all her dogmas and beliefs, maybe I was so immature, so selfish to feel the things in another way; living in her own skin and know she was me, the sum and experience of another time. In the end, we are just women crushed by a sexist culture with no mercy.

We just see what we want

Then we go to college and there we learn a lot of theories, phrases made, and we dehumanize ourselves, we forget our essence, where we come from — ‘Me’ and my Marxist theories, my desire for freedom of classes, my social revolution, and I became numb and, nothing was worthwhile from my academic knowledge to understand that the true learning she had already taught me; the unconditional love, without barriers or rules, the dignity of acceptance the others. Charity as a primary goal, share what we have, no matter how little we have, it is always possible to share a little bit and feel inside that we are making a big deal, but we can never tell what we have done, because it would be a poor marketing, self-promotion: what the right hand gives, the left hand has to forget.

How many times I questioned her about God, her faith, sexuality or why this world is this way. I was just a little child, so snobby to see what was true — love between mother and daughter goes beyond status quo or thoughts from different eras, we are bonded by perception and feelings: sixth sense. Miles away, she knew what was happening to me…

Sometimes I bit off more than I could chew, she gave me balance, she calmed me down, and she said:  ‘the things are not how we want, we have to wait, and everything has its own time.’ Now I know…

Her hands

Hands that could hurt and at the same time could be affable, the cure, take my pain away. Hands that cooked simple meals, fed me with hope and admiration: the way she prepared the food, chopped vegetables, seasoned with garlic, thinly sliced of ​​kale, everything so perfect.

Lesson learned 

The time is always right, her voice echoes in my mind, reminding me simple and precious things: Never sell yourself, your dreams, your body is a temple, dignifies it as the most inestimable thing in the world, do not give yourself away for whom does not see who you are, respect yourself and others, finally; love your neighbor as yourself.

If I could I would give her my life… ♥

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6 thoughts on “My mother…

  1. Hi Bia,
    das ist eine wunderschöne Hommage an Deine Mutter. Du magst sie sehr und Du hast Dich mit ihr, wenn ich es recht verstehe, versöhnt.
    Deine eigenen Lebenserfahrungen bringen Dich dazu, an Dir mittlerweile Seiten, Verhaltensweisen, Denkweisen Deiner Mutter zu erkennen, die Du in früheren Lebensjahren nicht gesehen oder nicht für wichtig erachtet hast.
    Du bist mit ihr und damit auch mit Dir offenbar jetzt in Frieden. Das ist großartig. Ich wollte. ich könnte das auch von mir sagen.
    Ich habe ein ausgesprochen schlechtes Verhältnis zu meinen Eltern, die beide verstorben sind, und das wird sich auch nicht mehr ändern. Sie waren so – wie sie waren, ok. , Aber weder Vorbild noch positiv gelebte Erinnerung. Als ältestes Geschwister bin ich es heute, der in der Sippe vieles so zu gestalten und zu reparieren sucht, wie es meine Eltern schon zu ihren Lebzeiten hätten tun sollen. Also: Ich will es besser und anders machen. Es nimmt mir viel Lebenszeit.

    Du hast eine schöne bildhafte Sprache gewählt, die dicht an Erfahrungen und in Bildern bleibt. Das kann ich so gern und gut lesen. Vielen Dank dafür.

  2. …you really touched me again…. words , minds…..and i feel how it sounds with your voice.
    i feel good to have met you,, warmhearted, awesome lady you are bea

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