A Mother’s Love

She sat on the garden swing, letting her feet dangle below skimming the soft soil. She thought back to all the times she had sat there, at the various stages of her life.

There was a time when she was five years old and didn’t want to go to her first day of first grade. Her feet couldn’t touch the ground then, and she’d had to jump up, dirtying her patent leather shoes in the process. Her mother had found her moments later, and knelt down, smoothing her dress. She put her forehead to her daughter’s forehead, their silent version of I love you. Slowly, she grasped her daughter’s small hand, helping her down from the swing.

When the girl was ten, she came home crying, finding refuge in the swing, rubbing her hands on the coarse ropes until blisters sprung. Her mother watched her from her home office, immediately moving to her daughter and slowly grabbing her daughter’s hand. She put her forehead against her daughter’s and let her silently cry. The words didn’t need to be spoken. The tears softened on her mother’s cheeks until they became a trickle and eventually stopped. Together they went inside.

When she was sixteen, she sat sadly on the garden swing, wondering why there was no emergency medicine for a broken heart. The boy had left her so heartbroken, she didn’t even have tears. As quickly as she sat down, her mother appeared. She pressed her forehead to her daughter’s forehead, silently allowing her love to flow and heal her daughter’s sadness.

At twenty-six, she felt grown-up and happy. Her heart was full of love and peace and strength. She put her forehead against her mother’s, their version of I love you.

Dedicated to my mother: my rock, my safety net, my protector.

—

This post was previously published on Medium.com.

***