I called my mom today. I left her a message. I haven't heard my mom's voice in five years. Five years! Can you imagine? I know I couldn't. My husband asked me, right before I called, "Why today?" And I said, "I don't know", as I planted my feet firmly on the ground so my racing heart could feel it's roots. Should I know why before I call? Maybe I would call my friend Jenny or my sister, Jill. They might know the answer. No, this is between God, my mom, and I. And somehow my Granny and my daughter too. This line of women with the same blood.
I had a dream. I have a statue in my front room made of very dark wood, almost black. It's shape: A very big mother, with big huge arms, holding a baby. This dark statue was in my dream last night. It sat in a room full of darkness, except for one stream of light coming through. This light landed directly on the statue of mother and child. Then I began to hear something. I heard and saw this statue moving. My dream ended with me looking down at my feet only to see a rosary wrapped around my left foot, with the cross hanging on the top of my foot. The cross was the only thing I could see.
I don't know why I called my mom. But I know this dream had something to do with it. Letting some light in the darkness. No agendas, no logic, no reason, just listening to a little whispering from my heart. I know after I called, I didn't want another year to go by without being in touch with my mom.
My mom did call back a couple of days later. My son answered. He handed the phone to me and I heard, "Hello, dear." "Oh my God, is this my Mom?", I asked. "Yes, it is," she said. It was hard. Painful. And when I heard my Mom talking to my kids, it was hopeful. And little did I know, the day I called my Mom, was my Granny's birthday. I knew she had something to do with it.
I have been sick, in bed, for three days. This is the second time this month. My body is working it through. I had a dream today, while I rested in the sunlight. There was a big huge man's hand stroking the planks of a dock. Underneath it was water and a little white bunny. Just a few minutes before, I had told a friend, "Bunnies are fragile. I am afraid I could just squish them." The hand in this dream is the big black mother statue in the other. The baby and the bunny are one and the same. There is a fragile part of me longing to be held. So, this is an invitation to the Big Mama and Papa of us all, hold me, nurture me, rid me of my shame of weakness. Love me for who I am. I need it. I am longing.
