I Met Myself as a Mother

I met myself as a mother | and I could tell she was tired | More tired than she had been on the nights | we spent closing down the bars | dancing, laughing, fighting, crying | I didn’t think it was possible | to be more tired than that | But she was | And another thing | I couldn’t help but notice | the look of peace and purpose on her face | as she sat in her robe by the fire | drinking her coffee and watching her sons play | on the floor in front of her | I didn’t know she could feel peace | More often, I remember | her shrouded in an anxiousness to be more | do more | achieve more | that she was never quite able to shake no matter how much she achieved | I didn’t know | she could feel purpose while sitting quietly | with messy hair and nowhere to be| No | I vividly remember her | always on the move | Searching for a purpose | that would pull her away from where she came from | … and who she came from | How, I wondered | does she know what a mother is supposed to do | when her own never taught her | the steps to follow?| But there she is | doing it nonetheless | She embodies a mother | or at least what I imagine a mother to be | because like her, how would I know? | She does it | despite not having a mother of her own to call | To ask for advice | on hard days | when she feels like she is failing | But there she is | doing more than just following the steps | There she is | leaning in and learning and teaching | getting it wrong and apologizing | pausing and growing | And loving - oh how loving | I guess I am just a little surprised | because I have never seen her so happy while so deeply imperfect | I guess I am a little confused | why it took her becoming a mother to find out we were always enough | I guess I am a little jealous | of the love she gives so freely to those two little boys, but not to me | I guess I am just wondering what it is about them that is deserving of that kind of love when I clearly wasn’t. I guess I am just grieving | as I watch others be loved | in a way I never was | And I guess she must have seen me watching her | crying, seething, angry, jealous | because just now she walked over | took my face in her hands and said, “you deserved this too.”