My Mothers Daughter

My mom was the constant protector of my body, mind and spirit. She was my friend, always ready to listen and offer her opinion to advise me, but only if I asked for it.  I miss those conversations we had about all things, large and small, always filled with giggles and her sweet attendance  to my words and thoughts. Her exceptional home cooking fueled my tiny bones so successfully that I remember suffering ‘growing pains’. I recall her concern over my distress when my legs ached. She would simply say in her concerned matter-of-fact voice that it was merely growing pains. She would put me to bed, telling me that I would feel better after a good nights rest. Sure enough, the next morning I was ready to grow some more under her care. My most memorable meal will always be her roast beef, potatoes and carrots. My gosh, she made it the best, embedding fresh garlic into the roast, browning it on an old cast iron skillet before baking in the oven. Ahhh, the beauty of those carrots, potatoes and celery surrounding that savory roast beef. When she took off the tin foil tent to so that the potatoes would get a golden patina it was like watching and artist working culinary magic. I miss the aroma of those Sunday afternoons while moms roast beef dinner was baking.

In the final week of her life, she and I had a conversation. She had been reflecting on the significance of her life. While I sat with her in the hospital, she raised the discussion about how challenging it is to be a woman, especially these days. We talked about how a woman works twice as hard as a man, with the ongoing domestic tasks on top of having a career. She asked me that age-old question that all mothers have pondered. She asked if I, as a child, had ever missed her when she was away at work. I instinctively knew what she was asking me without her putting it into words. She felt the perpetual guilt that all women have when torn between wanting to stay home to nurture their family but necessity sends them off to work. It took just a brief moment for me to answer her, and I hope relieve her. I told her sincerely that I never missed her one iota, because when she was home she was 100% available to me. I had never thought about this before, but as a child, I never felt that she was distracted with work, because she was always emotionally available when she was at home. I do remember that she did go off to work, but while she was gone my dad stepped up, thus I never had the chance to miss her. I told her that I felt loved my entire life. I hope I alleviated any thoughts of guilt or remorse she had about working outside the home.

My mom carried with her a deep-seated patience, and even though I struggle with that virtue, it is because of her acceptance of others in a nonjudgmental fashion that I am open, caring and able to forgive. I have the capacity to forgive myself my many faults. Her quick beautiful smile and her ability to laugh at herself is also a trait of hers that I hold, and I hope will be passed to my daughters. How can I possibly count the multitude of aspects of being my mothers’ daughter, which make me the woman I am today? I have learned so many morals from her countless lessons from observing my mom’s behavior and interactions with others through the years. Most importantly, I will carry her spirit and feel her love inside my heart, mind, and soul every day.

 

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In The Early Mourning

In The Early Mourning

 

Morning dew seeps

Still unable to sink

Into a peace I so need.

A veil of regret

Befalls inexhaustible.

 

I think of those days, not knowing

They were her last

The words never said

Which should have been spoken.

 

Tears escape to my pillow. Hopeless.

Like the single drop that she

Shed nearing her end.

How is it possible

She is gone

 

As I dredge up those days, now knowing

I have her to welcome me.

My fear of death is forever buried

With the ashes of her body.

 

Remembered Kisses

Nervously, my innocent lips seek out Chris’ darting tongue in the dark.   1976

Paul’s hands on my face, pressing against me with immediacy, when I walk into his house.  2008

Gingerly holding Heather in my arms, I put my parched lips softly on the top of her newborn head, while a tear of joy escapes. 1984

“Pucker up” my dad says, as he gently tucks my sister and I into bed. We giggle to his silly singing, “make a magic circle and mark it with an X.”  1966

Chivas and cigar smoldering kisses from Rich.  His eyes remain stubbornly open.   I learn too late that his heart remains closed.  2001

Taking control of Mike with my kisses, I convince myself that he turns me on.  1979

Vernon’s lips graze mine, over and over again, becoming stronger, he looks deep into my eyes as we collapse at the moment of truth.  2009

The kiss I could not give; damned by the mask, leukemia, hospital rules and my dear mothers’ abrupt death.   2009

>Jack

>White as the snowfall of that joyous Christmas

He entered our young family

Petted, kissed and cuddled

He dozed in our arms

As we all took a stab at naming him.

He was carefully passed around

The kitchen island

Along with the bottle

That he was named after – Jack!

Jack – a strong name for a solid fellow

Would grow to be a faithful friend.

The happiest member of the clan.

Always at the ready to offer a greeting

From his earliest years of generously

Jumping on top of guests with

A full body hug –

To his more mature years

Showing huge affection

Too well-trained to jump up,

Instead, showed a more refined joy

With his entire body wagging,

Always with that happy face

Smiling sincerely at you.

Constant companion, always nearby.

Underfoot in the kitchen,

Discretely in wait for a morsel to fall.

Resting attentively in the foyer

Guardian of his family

Our gentle giant

Had a secret desire to be a lapdog!

Jack’s favorite place was with his family

A poolside party or bonfire where

He could garner affection, food and preferably

A lap to sit on!

That young family who giggled at his puppy pranks

Who grew up together

Strong, solid and so very loved.

Has entered a new phase.

And is now a sweet memory, savored often by all.

As is our dear friend, Jack.

In memory of Jack – Great White Boxer. Losing an aging pet is very hard on many levels. First is the sadness of loosing a dear friend, a member of your immediate family. Also, we are reminded of now fleeting the years go by, and of how fast the chapters of our book is turning. Growing older. 

D. J. Hall (03/16/2009)

Sad Mom Moment

Mom & I

Mom & I

    

 

        Sad Mom Moment

        D. J. Hall – 06/24/09

 

Having a sad mom moment

Thoughts of the sweetest smile bring

A painful tenderness to me.

I miss her.

 

Quick to laugh at her own mix-ups

Scattered at times.

Patient and kind

She always forgave me mine.

 

Having a sad mom moment

Her spirit inside me,

Breathes through me

I want her.

 

Bright warm eyes

Deep in thought.

Concern for others

Above herself.

 

Having a sad mom moment

A sorrow never felt

While she was here.

I  need her.

 

Willing gentle listener

She read emotions

Wrapped under words

Wise in the ways of empathy.

 

Having a sad mom moment

Somehow comforts and reminds me

How blessed my life has been.

I love her.

Past Tension

            Past Tension

                          D.J. Hall 

                                                                       

The Past is a root that spreads, swelling between us.

A source for constant state of upheaval.

Mistakes, deception and cruelty are a sickness.

The smallest faults expand, proliferate.

The Past is unwilling to forgive or obliterate.

 

Two souls of different spirit, psyche, strength.

Attempt to move forward together

Continual to struggle.

Where is my spine? Where is his heart?

 

His thoughts are so deep

They are drowning me.

His philosophy is so stoic

It smothers me.

His systematized style is so uptight

It stifles me.

 

He says

I should be more

Frugal. Fluent.

Intellectual. Prudent.

He says

I should be less

Generous. Scattered.

Passionate. Stupid.

 

Instead, I am

Confused. Convictionless.

Uncertain. Unwilling

To change.

 

The Past, in its wary way,

Is a destroyer of destiny.

Creating dreams only to be demolished.

Our Past eliminates Our Future.

 

Linear Momentum July 2008

 

A brief poem using the word LINE.  

 

His inflexible line of sight

Visualized an unobstructed horizon

Which held a tender morsel

A bee line was made

To that sweet one.

 

Knowing she drew outside the lines

His line of duty was relentless.

Forcing her to toe the line

In order to stay in line!

 

The lines of demarcation blurred

When he crossed the line

That proverbial boundary breached

Partioning their affection.

Divided they fell.

 

A strict line item veto yet again

Of her offer of unlimited lifetime

Credit line of love.

Became promptly past due…

Debtors prison for him.

 

The tempest gained strength

As the squall line screamed

Bloody Hell!

Introduction

Hello to the bravado of my newly found voice!
That discontented and discouraged sound simpering deep in my consciousness is now saying goodbye to the fear of speaking the wrong thing… and hello to the courage to speak the truth as I see or feel it.  The beauty and strength of being a woman is our ability to be every changing in the many stages of our lives. From our youth through our mature years, we are ever- interchangeable and able to adapt to what life puts in our paths. Throughout the good, the bad and even in the direst despair, we reach out to our friends, nurture our family and give without bounds to the ones we love the most.