I Wish My Mother

I wish my Mother would have warned me about the possible pains of being her daughter. She might have drawn me aside as a child and said “Honey, my child, watch out for being afraid to try new things, just look both ways and give crossing a try.”

I wish my mother could have stood tall in all her imperfection and said: “Honey, my sweet child, don’t forget sometimes it’s best not to take yourself or anyone else too seriously, always take your daily dose of joyful abandon.

I wish my mother could have, when I was about 12, taken me on a walk on the ocean shore and reminded me to honor my body, the matter of my spirit, the whole expanding, curving, juicy explosion. The magnificent process of woman making.
I wish my Mother could have been honest about her pain, not defended, nor denied, but said:”Girl, child of mine, here are some of the trouble spots, the edges I have to smooth, the wounds still to be healed. Now your life is your own, but here are the possible pains of being a daughter of mine. Don’t tie yourself too tightly to these pains, these are histories moving through you, not places to stand for the ride.”