One of the things I appreciate and value so much about my guest today is what an involved and supportive member of the blogging community she is.
Kirsten Piccini is a lover of words, quotes, music and stories. High Heel Devotee, Cupcake Connoisseur, Infertility Survivor, Mommy of Twins and Television Addict. She's always loved writing and telling stories, but it wasn’t until 2010 when she found The Red Dress Club (now Write on Edge) that she rekindled that spark. That is how I met her!
She's found friends and inspiration in the communities she's come to call her tribe.
Kirsten is published in the Write On Edge Anthology: Precipice Volume 2, with a fiction story Kismet’s Kiss. She is Assistant Editor for Write on Edge and a community leader and prompt diva for Studio30Plus.
My mother's child
Our lives could very well be lived in accordance with motivating quotes or inspiring anecdotes.
And in my case my life has always made room for them if for not for any other reason than they offered an answer to the puzzle of life.
“Growing older is mandatory, growing up is optional.”
You’ve heard that one right?
Or “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”
Everyone has tucked that one into her heart for when an ordinary day turns into heartache, a failing grade or in the worst cases the death of someone we love. I’m not sure what it is about those seven words but they’ve always had the power to bring me back from the edge of complete desperation.
I’ll remember, “if this doesn’t kill me, I’ll be stronger for it” and then I do my best to move forward or simply stand still waiting for the pain and disbelief to wash over me like a huge wave that both scares and excites me leaving me stumbling, bumbling toward the shore with a mouthful of froth and salt stinging me eyes.
Yet, it hasn’t carried me out to sea.
I may need hack up the hurt, but I’m breathing.
I’m alive, ready to find another inspiration to quote.
When did you finally grow up? Feel like an adult? Accept that your childhood was over?
I remember a general time in my twenties where I was adamant about moving as far away from my mother as possible. I was young and stupid of course, because even as I put space between us geographically there was no outrunning the genetic tendril that bound me to her.
When my dad died suddenly, I was twenty six years old and away at school three hours away from my mom. I needed to be told the news while I cradled the phone and felt my heart break for the loss of a man I wasn’t sure I’d miss and then crumble for the woman who had loved him for twenty eight years in spite of his shortcomings.
The ride home felt like this loss should usher in an age of adulthood but when I walked through the door of my childhood home I realized it was a farce. My mother was in charge and would continue to be the adult, the keeper of hearts and the purveyor of plans, until further notice.
It was easy to allow her the role and I am ashamed, even now, to say I did it without a backward glance.
Because it was easier.
Easier to remain the child in our relationship, easier to collapse into her arms when a boy broke my heart, or my father died or when a car didn’t start. Easier to use her strength to fortify me when infertility threatened to steal all the love I’d ever had for my body or when my pregnancy simply became too scary to handle. Easier to bitch and moan to her when the days are long, the boys won’t listen and yes, even when my brother suddenly died.
In those nightmarish moments of loss I turned to my mother, the woman who had a lost a son too soon, to hold me up and hold our family together.
She has always been my hero and the source of inner fortitude I need when things start breaking down.
You might wonder why my mind is on such things during the hazy, lazy ease of summer. It’s because the winds of change are once again blowing through my family dynamic and my mom will soon be calling another state her home.
She’s moving nine hundred and seventy three miles away from me and the twenty something girl who staunchly declared her ideas about proximity with her mother has become the forty-four year old woman/child who still admittedly needs her mommy.
I am still my mother’s child.
As is the case with beginnings there must be endings and even summers and childhoods eventually need to culminate. Once again the space between us geographically will be farther away than I’d like but when I’m missing her I’ll remember the power of love, lineage and words.
This move won’t kill us.
This move might make our bond even stronger.
And this summer, just like my childhood, isn’t quite over yet.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful piece, Kirsten! I wish you peace as this change approaches. To add to your list of quotes, they say, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
Check out the other Summer Series contributors:
- Kevin Ross
- Stacey Gustafson
- Angela Amman
- Carol Cassara
- Lucy Robinson
- Cameron Garriepy
- Lori Lavender Luz
- Elaine Ambrose
- Alexandra Rosas
- Roxanne Piskel