A Gift from Mom

The woman stirred in her sleep and murmured softly.  Her dream was unusually vivid in detail.  She had returned to her childhood and to her childhood home.  She wakened slowly with the dream still holding a firm place in her mind.  She picked up a pen and and quickly captured its details on paper.  She then reached out to her sister and shared her dream.

That woman is my sister, Paula Bogdan.  I am blessed to be the sister with whom she shared the dream.  I am even more blessed because her dream was about our mother and me, and it was a message of love.

At the start of the dream Paula was the woman she is today but quickly became a child of ten years old. She was vacuuming, and it was quite a mess.  Our mother, who appeared as the woman she was when in her late thirties, entered the room.  When Paula started complaining about vacuuming Mom stopped to give her an explanation.

Our mother quietly told Paula that she needed to keep cleaning because Mom was busy building a special place for me.  She wanted me to have a place in which to keep my things, but further explained it had to be large enough so that I could fit into it.  Mom wanted me to have a haven where I could hide for a bit when the world became too much for me.

Paula readily agreed.  Her only concern was that Mom was cutting into the bedroom walls in order to create this space for me.  Paula was afraid that our father would not like that last part very much.

What is really interesting to me is that I am creating that quiet safe place to which I can escape when things get a bit too much for me. Unlike Paula's dream it is not a physical place.  Rather it is a place inside myself.  I'm building that special spot as Mom built it in Paula's dream.  And just like the dream, I need to cut into those walls that surround me in order to reach that safe place...that haven.

There is part of this that absolutely fascinates me.  Recently I wrote a blog here titled, "Love Song in Pieces."  It was my tribute, my gift, to Mom who passed away over twelve years ago.

"When you give a gift let it be a gift from your heart.  Give it simply out of love.  Expect nothing in return."  Wise words spoken by Denise Povernick.  A lesson I thought I learned decades ago, but then came my cold awareness that I had not.  Finally, a post in honor of Mom that was written with love.  Written with no expectations.  Rather written with a hope that at least part of the world would know a bit more about the remarkable woman who was my mother.  My words carried my love out into the universe, and reaching down from heaven Mom was able to reciprocate that love with a dream.  As I tuck that knowledge deep inside myself I realize that her love has helped me knock down a few walls.  Walls I built in a vain attempt to protect myself.  Using love as a tool we are together creating that special place deep within my heart.  A place where I can go when the world becomes too much.  A place where I can keep my treasure of knowing I am surrounded by love.

 In this season of frantically shopping for a loved one's perfect present mine came quietly in the middle of the night. A true gift given from daughter to mother.  Another entrusted by mother to daughter to be carried to another.   A perfect circle of love.  Simply put, it doesn't get better than that.  Thank you, Mom.

Love Song in Pieces

Clackety-clack,  clackety-clack...a song really with a steady hum and a strong beat.  A song that would occasionally awaken me as a child.  A song that made me smile.  A song of love.

Clackety-clack, clackety-clack...a song that called to me.  I would toss aside my bedcovers and pad softly down the hallway to the source of the sound.  It would draw me to my mother's sewing machine which was tucked away in a small nook in our house.  It sat amidst a sea of fabric with bobbins of thread adding color to the machine's black surface.

Clackety-clack, clackety-clack...my mother's form is silhouetted by the light streaming in from a window next to the sewing machine.  She sits leaning into the machine with a look of concentration on her face.  As the threaded needle dances up and down her hands carefully guide the fabric so that the stitches are placed in the perfect spot.  She is creating a dress for me.  It is a labor of love.

Clackety-clack, clackety-clack....my mother sits at another sewing machine.  This time she is one of many women sitting in a factory carefully guiding a piece of cloth.  Without the window, without the sunlight streaming through, this is a darker place.  Her skills are implemented for what was called piecework.  Her efforts never showed a completed dress here.  Rather she sewed only a piece of it, a collar, waistband, or sleeve.  She was paid according to how many pieces she sewed.  Sew it, get it done, move on to the next.  Sew it, get it done, move on to the next.  Hour after hour she labored at the machine.  Sometimes all went smoothly, and there was a rhythm and flow to her work.  Other times, though, the machine might jam, threads might snap, or needles might break.  Time to stop, rip out those stitches, and begin again.

Clackety-clack, clackety-clack...a realization that came to me far too late in my life.  My mother was an artist.  Her medium was fabric.  The nook that housed her sewing machine was her studio.  Her art could be seen in the dresses my sister and I wore with pride.  Those dresses, her art, were made and given with love.  Each stitch was sewn with her hope of creating a better world for her loved ones.  Whenever I wore those dresses she made I also wore her love.

Clackety-clack, clackety-clack...the lessons I learned from my mother's example.  Use your gifts.   Show your love.  Sometimes things will come together with an ease and a flow, but there will be other times when you will need to rip out some stitches and begin anew.  There will be times when you are able to see the whole picture, but others when all you can do is focus on the piece that is in front of you.  My life held PIECEwork completed with love.  My life now holds PIECES of Light seen through love.