For a long time I've tried to pinpoint the Version of my Momma,
Whom I can most identify,
Or the era of hers
That rings loudest to me.
How do I remember her?
Not just in pictures,
But who is the Lady I think of,
When I think of her most?
So many flashes,
In an instant,
All of it,
Is it her?
The memory,
The picture of the memory,
The story continued to be told,
The impression of how it made me Feel???
What avatar version of her pops into my Mind and heart-
When I speak her name,
And hold her close?
The Earth Mother,
Making flower crowns on the hill,
As she and Drew counted train cars
The Young Mom?
As I stood waving goodbye,
To her pulling out the drive way to work
On the small wood slat porch,
With the plastic swan sitting,
Not yet comprehending how Florida Humidity could slow a person down.
The overworked late mom-
I'd sit waiting after practice,
By the garbage,
Just in case
Anyone would start something,
I sorted jumping in the can-
A brilliant place to hide.
Her final days,
The last year...
Her resting moment...
........Mostly
..........................................she is.......
.....this to me...
This is the version of her.
Relaxed,
Slightly spent
With several projects going,
Starter seeds sprouting,
Probably flowers-
A Putty spatula,
A mason jar,
A potted Plant,
Slippers.
Her squinting
Happy eyes,
A bucket,
Of something
Sitting on the back porch,
Park Place Kansas,
One of which-
(I can only guess)
Roughly-
The Seventh House
(At least in my lifetime)
She owned...
And fixed up,
Then sold,
And moved on.
She was the wildest,
Most grounded,
Light Full hearted
Raw Feeling person-
I ever knew.
Every day I think of her.
Every moment.
That has not changed.
Two years later,
It still sucks.
I am not the same person I was when she Was here.
Everything has changed,
I have not wanted it to get easier.
That would mean I have accepted this.
Her fate-
My pain.
The new now.
And yet here we are.
I do not feel the need to make her proud.
She was proud of my brother and I the day We took our first breath.
I do however feel and know she is,
Simply because we are,
Of her,
In every way
Because of her-
I have learned lessons
Of grace,
And empathy,
And Fire,
And Fury,
Forgiveness,
Humility,
Acceptance,
And perseverance-
In a way,
I have only seen her do.
From as much as I've learned what I want,
I too have seen what does not work.
Because she tried
A lot,
And failed,
Some.
And still always had enough to pick herself Back up,
And dance.
To share that tune,
She heard inside,
And so much more to learn and share.
She only wants the best for her children,
For all children-
And she would take on heaven and Earth,
In order to aid that.
When I sit at my desk
Presser foot down,
The hum of
Her sewing machine-
She is here-
When I visit the garden
And the artichoke
Climbs towards the sun,
She is here,
When I bake a pie ...
Following her crust recipe to the T-
'Never Fail Pie Crust'
I wish I could hear her voice,
Just to share the time.
It's her presence,
Even in the absence-
I remember,
Her words,
Her legacy,
More than anything,
It is her,
A mish-mosh
Of all she was,
Is.
And always will
Be
Exposed and vulnerable,
Raw and real,
Titan of a human.
Gentle Sprite in the wind
That is who I know her as.
A powerhouse like that,
Will never be confined to a body,
We were lucky enough to have one of many Of these conversations,
Just weeks before she moved on...
Everything I do,
Is in service of this force,
Supporting me-finding my joy.
And now especially as our world gets more and more crazy,
I am forever grateful for this crackle light influence.
I Thank You, I Love you, I Honor you.
Happy Birthday Momma
April 13 Born-Linda Diane Klausner
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