What extra meaning does Mother’s Day have for you this year?
I have been thinking recently about the quarantine — the great pause, as people have called it — and motherhood.
Motherhood initiates with pregnancy: a time of shifting inward, slowing down, dreaming of the future, building intimacy with loved ones, and nesting. It is a period of time wrought with discomfort and fear as well as joy and contentment. Something new is being created, and we must wait.
I took a long sabbatical from Ponder because I felt the need to shift from masculine energies to feminine ones. I was weary of output. I needed to incubate. Something in me knew that the schedule I was keeping, the load I was carrying, the race I was running was pushing me away from a rested center. When I look back, I realize that I was experiencing this need to shift inward exactly 5 years after my youngest child was born, and that child had been born 5 years after my first ones were born. As if cyclically, I was being pulled back toward a period of gestation, and then all of a sudden, we all were.
There was the great pause. Which is suspiciously like gestation. The waiting, the nesting, the uncertainty, the hope, the growing of some new thing we cannot see but can feel.
Incubate can be a frightening term, especially now. An infectious disease incubates, growing inside someone before any symptoms appear. Is there something stronger incubating, too? Is this an opportunity for society to finally and fully prize feminine energies as equally as masculine ones? Will our desire for achievement actually be rivaled by our desire for experience? Will our need for action be tempered by our need for reflection? Will we be more and do less in harmony?
This Mother’s Day is bittersweet. I have had a wonderful day. I walked the dogs with my husband, had breakfast on the porch with my kids, took a hike, and received thoughtful gifts. I feel appreciated and I feel grateful, but the truth is I miss my own mom. So much. The last time I hugged her was on March 11, two months ago tomorrow. I tried to dwell in her smell. I tried to really look into her face. But I couldn’t bottle it up.
Did you get to see your mom today, hug her even? Or do you have to wait — until normalcy, until the next life — to embrace her again? What extra meaning does Mother’s Day have for you this year? What do you love and/or miss about her most?