Thursday, February 14, 2019

A Poem, and thoughts on Motherhood

Found this at a friend's page--these days as we enjoy our last child at home I cannot help but look back at the years of children-raising... so many wonderful years. I remember well one day, in Lincoln, a house full, when I was keenly aware that those "fingerprints on the walls" would keep going up... and one day disappear. With Numbers Six and Seven I was very much aware of the "last things"... and when Husband was gone, Number Seven still enjoyed laying in bed with me, and resting her head on my arm... I never cared that my arm hurt, or fell asleep under the weight of her head. She did that for a long, long time... and did I treasure it, each and every time! Every time I thought--this may be the very last time. 

A very sweet thing in life is to look back and to be thankful. Thankful for so much God sends to families and daily family life: all gifts, undeserved, sweet, and treasured. Now we see two of our daughters preparing to be mothers, while we say goodbye to the days of caring for children under our roof. I don't know how grandparenthood will be. I hear it is wonderful, but we are aware that likely we will never live near any of them and be part of their daily lives. 

Motherhood has been a vocation I have immensely loved. The Blessed Mother Mary has been with me everyday, through the Rosary and my relying on her to give me counsel and motherly love, as I was with my own dear Mother so little during my motherhood years. I was talking to a new mother this week, and she told me of their struggle during labor, having to drive an hour in a blizzard to transfer to a hospital. This was in South Dakota last week, roads and schools closed due the extreme weather. They prayed to Our Lady, asking for safe passage, and the next day, rejoicing in the birth of their little son, added her beautiful name to his, in gratitude. Number Three will be the godfather of this child and I so wish I could be at the baptism.

What comes to mind was Number Seven's Baptism. The young priest held the baby, and taking her to the feet of the beautiful Our Lady statue, consecrated our little delight to her loving, heavenly hands. 

These are the memories that last a lifetime and bring joy and hope, always.

The Last Time

From the moment you hold your baby in your arms,
you will never be the same.
You might long for the person you were before,
When you have freedom and time,
And nothing in particular to worry about.

You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,
And days will run into days that are exactly the same,
Full of feedings and burping,
Nappy changes and crying,
Whining and fighting,
Naps or a lack of naps,
It might seem like a never-ending cycle.

But don’t forget …
There is a last time for everything.
There will come a time when you will feed
your baby for the very last time.
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child.

One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down,
And never pick them up that way again.
You will scrub their hair in the bath one night
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone.
They will hold your hand to cross the road,
Then never reach for it again.
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles,
And it will be the last night you ever wake to this.

One afternoon you will sing “the wheels on the bus”
and do all the actions,
Then never sing them that song again.
They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate,
The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone.
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face.
They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.

The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time
Until there are no more times.
And even then, it will take you a while to realize.

So while you are living in these times,
remember there are only so many of them
and when they are gone, you will yearn for just one more day of them.
For one last time.

-Author Unknown-


Tereza Braga said...

Poignant! Parabéns pelas descrições tão vívidas. No papel (hoje em dia eletrônico) você derrama o oceano de sentimentos que esconde na oralidade do dia-a-dia. Eu entendo melhor você. E entendo melhor a alma do artista.

Ana Braga-Henebry said...

ah ah assunto super frequente em conversas. Alias sao das conversas que tiro as ideas pra escrever.