Mother Bird

As I share of Gratitude

And the Gifts of my Kids

Of surviving and overcoming

How I cried and I bled.

Without a Mother Mentor

I forged my own way

Against unspoken rules

And around secretive power plays.

My sophisticated psyche

Found a tree, built a nest,

My body laid its eggs.

And is still sorting out the rest.

Did you hear, Mother Bird?

Dear Reader,

I am  Fifty Years Old.

My Mother is Dead.
I am Mothering myself this year.

I nurture, soothe, embrace, forgive, accept, hug, stroke, and love myself. I shush my choking sobs and wipe my own tears .I remind myself that I am a Human Being and Doing the best I can. I lovingly chop vegetables, make soup and I carefully feed my sick, wounded, grieving child within.

I am mothering myself.

I am healing!

I am celebrating a precious new relationship.

I am going to be present this  Mother’s Day.

This Mother’s Day,

I am the Mother

        and

I am  the Child.

Be Gentle with YOU,

Love,

MindiMeira