Becketwood Cooperative
An Active, Independent 55+ Community of Owners in Minneapolis
 

Motherhood

By George Lundgren, Becketwood Member

 

A mother is born

With the final push.

 

Motherhood.

A blind insanity

Driven by unreasonable hope,

A determination

To keep alive an unknown stranger

At any cost,

A trainload of instincts

Set in motion by a cry,

By the sight of a helpless child,

By a warm form molded

Between arms and breast,

By one whose trust is complete,

By one whose need is total.

 

Motherhood.

Maker of miracles

For those touched by madness,

A woman

Transformed beyond herself,

A child

Loved and pushed and

Prodded and coaxed and

Cuddled and supported and

Nursed through the worst,

Till the door finally opens,

The child walks out

And disappears.

 

 

Motherhood memories.

The best and the worst,

Are contained in those nights between

Two and six,

When sagging eyes and

Cotton fuzzy brain

Struggle with quiet, and boredom,

And fear for a child who is ill.

And it’s anger

At not being able to sleep,

And it’s anger

At treatments that don’t work,

And it’s anger

At medicines that take days to help.

And it’s guilt

For not knowing what to do,

And it’s guilt

For having to go to work,

And it’s the joy

Of being with your child

When they need you the most

When they can depend on you.

 

Motherhood.

She gets to the office

With hair-unwashed-no-make-up-on,

Flat blank eyes from lack of sleep,

With a sick limp child

Sleeping on her chest.

She’s at her best.

She’s passed the test.

It doesn’t get any better than this.

 

 

There’s a years’ worth of tears

When a child leaves home.

No switch to throw, no button to push,

That turns the motherhood off

Like there was to turn it on.

No easy out,

No comin’ down slow,

Crash.

Something’s missing at home,

There’s an ache inside.

Outpourings of love

With no target to hit,

No jobs to get done,

No schedules to keep,

And,

No treatments to help the pain.

Feel, talk, wait.

Fill the space with something new?

 

Motherhood.

The roots remain in the dark

About where the sprout goes,

About where the leaves find their sun,

About how the sky looks to the

Reaching branch.

Grounded

In the insane love of motherhood

Children do make their way

Out into the world,

And moms never lose

A mother’s love

A mother’s fears

And a mother’s memories.

 

Leave a Reply

  • Helen Gilbert September 13, 2021, 5:30 pm

    George, this captures and understands a huge life experience very movingly. I’m sending it to my daughter who just launched her two girls to faraway adventures. Thank you for writing it.

    Reply
  • Anonymous September 13, 2021, 8:14 pm

    Thank you. It brought back memories. I’m sharing it with my daughter who sent her oldest off to college this week. Beautiful.

    Reply
  • Laurie September 13, 2021, 11:51 pm

    Wow- so well written, so true. Thank you, George.

    Reply
  • judy September 14, 2021, 7:34 pm

    You have expressed well the loving ups and downs of motherhood. thank you.

    Reply
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