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Kymberlie Ingalls is native to the Bay Area in California. She is a pioneer in blogging, having self-published online since 1997. Her style is loose, experimental, and a journey in stream of consciousness. Works include personal essay, prose, short fictional stories, and a memoir in progress. Thank you for taking a moment of your time to visit. Beware of the occasional falling opinions. For editing services: http://www.rainfallpress.com/

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Days Of Mothers

Twenty-five years and my life is still trying to get up that great big hill of hope…

“You’ve talked about how the day goes, every year.  How it affects those around you.  But, how do you feel about Mother’s Day?”

I’m often not able to accurately answer questions posed before me.  I’ll stare at wall, or at the ground, the sky, the bird outside the window, as I ponder my response.  So many words.  It’s difficult for me to make sense of the jumble in my head where they bounce and skyrocket like popcorn kernels. 

How do I feel about Mother’s Day?

It’s another day.  A day to remember the epic battles between my mother and my evil step…mother.  Funny, I’d rather she be a step I could walk on and away from than the poor substitute for a mom that she turned out to be.  I’ll hand her a polite gift of miniature roses, but when the sun rises it is my Mom I’ll be missing, and not just because it’s some particular Sunday that Hallmark tells us to honor. 

Every Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.  Every single day of the week, I miss my mom.  Mother’s Day is just a hollow reminder that turns my brother into a raging bitch from that day until June 17th – Mom’s birthday. 

Maybe someday he’ll get over it.  Holding my breath and waiting only gets me a nice skin shade of blue.

Another question asked of me:  “These issues with your stepmother.  Can they not be resolved?  Isn’t there some kind of closure to be found?” 

Some answers are nothing more than predictions, and I tossed out my crystal ball a long time ago. 

Today was emotional, for various reasons.  Up, down and all around like a carnival ride, only I ended up dizzy and stumbling around a house of mirrors, not sure where to take my next step.  Echoes of questions pushed and pulled at me, while waves of giddiness were mocked by the teary-eyed mess staring from inside the reflective walls. 

I learned today that my cousin and her girlfriend lost their child.  She was five months along, and the baby simply couldn’t be saved.  They buried their child together, and asked for prayers of love and support. 

Sometimes I wish I knew how to pray.  Just open your mind and speak.  Speak to what?  A God who doesn’t bless their union?  That’s what the Christians were saying on Facebook today. 

A prayer doesn’t have to be to God, Jesus, The Virgin Mary or the tree in my front yard.  A prayer in my mind is a wish for peace, however it may show itself.  My prayer is that they will someday celebrate Mother’s Day with more joy than sadness as they cradle their family in their arms.  The love they share will get them through this horrendous time; that’s where I choose to put my faith, and find my inspiration. 

Every single day of the week these mothers will miss their son.  Every day for the rest of their lives.  If only they’d been spared that agony.  Life is brimming with if onlys.  Sooner or later we have to make peace with them and appreciate what is. 

They will need to lay their child to rest.  My brother needs to lay our mother to rest.

Sooner or later, there’s a way out of the house of mirrors.  The secret is to find our way through the looking glass and move forward, not to keep staring at what’s reflected behind us. 

And I cry sometimes as I lie in bed, just to get it all out, what’s in my head.  I wake in the morning and I step outside and I take a deep breath and I scream from the top of my lungs ‘What’s going on..?’

© Kymberlie Ingalls, May 12, 2012
Lyrics:  What’s Going On? / 4 Non-Blondes

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