That Mother Thing

I am not a religious person, but I do believe. There have been six times in my life when I felt a presence that can only be described as God. When I saw each of my babies for the first time, I saw love. At the precise moment of birth I knew God was there. This accounts for three experiences. I will be silent about the other three for the moment. We’ll just leave it at the birth of my first child. That was the first time I had real proof that God exists.

The birth of my children was only the beginning of a love that doubles infinitely over time, and, as my love grows my protective instincts surge. Although I have no idea why, the mother swells inside me and never stops growing. No one told me about this before I had children. Although my children are now adults the mother thing continues to grow. I conclude it never will.

Often times while I’ve been here, I silently brainstorm long lists of every possibility of impending disaster. Mothers do this very well. Let me explain. My phone is silent. I check my email. Nothing. No one is trying to contact me. I haven’t heard from them in three days. There must be a reason because they have protected me from bad news in the past. This is my evidence that they are protecting me now. They protect me with their silence.

I’m sure someone is sick. Or maybe my granddaughter isn’t well. One of them has lost a job. There’s been an accident of some kind – I can invent lots of these in my head. I’m very creative. They’ve done this to me. I blame them. This is another part of the mother thing.

I can identify many things to worry about which sends me into never-ending and constant worry frenzy. This is an activity I practiced regularly at home and it is only magnified being so far away.

I watch television infrequently. In my spare time I read. I research. I journal. I contemplate my thoughts. And I worry.