I have never wanted to be somebody’s wife or mother or even, bless his little heart, my grandson’s grandmother. No, I want to be ME! This is a strong personality trait of mine because I am an Enneagram 4, the Individualist.
My life was blessed with a mother-in-law who was the opposite of me in this way. She was an Enneagram 2, dubbed The Helper, which is defined by being unselfish, altruistic, and filled with unconditional love. This defined Mary to a T. She was one of the most generous, loving, kind women you ever had the pleasure to meet. She was happy to be defined by her relationship with others, at least none of us ever thought to ask her otherwise.
She passed away just a few months ago, and I had the honor of writing a brief obituary for the local paper. I struggled to find the right words to convey who she was to people who might not have met her, not wanting to settle for trite words penned many times before. I just began to write, and this poem emerged. Rather than being a tribute to Mary, it was a search within myself, a realization of the sins of omission, when it came to my relationship with her.
She is gone now, will never read or hear these words of mine, but maybe someone else will. Maybe someone will allow space for a mother, sister, wife, daughter, grandmother, friend to be who they are… outside of the titles our society bestows upon them.
Today I Plant Flowers and Think of You
Today I plant flowers and think of you
They were from a discount rack
50 cents, I believe
I put them in the car trunk and
promptly forgot them
They were discovered 3 days later
not only still alive but blooming
You would have called it A Christmas Miracle
As I make a hole in the black dirt
slip each flower out of its plastic cage
push the roots in, press soil all around
I think of you blooming
despite being imprisoned
in a life devoted to the care of others
I say imprisoned with my own prejudice
projecting emotions onto you, that may
have never been
but
your relationships defined you
each loved one had a different name for you
a name that came with a box
a box that sometimes had a lock
something you only realized when
you tried to get out
be
just you
I remember the phone calls
I was the daughter-in-love
one step removed
living far away
perhaps you thought of me as
a safe place to vent
I knew you were
a mother
a sister
a wife
a grandmother
I knew you were a friend
just like me
but
I didn’t realize you were also a woman
a woman who was angry
a woman who was hurt
a woman who was scared
a woman who had dreams
a woman
just like me
I try to live a life with few regrets
but if I could go back
I would send the children out to play
Make myself a cup of tea
Sit there with the phone to my ear
for as long as it took
to let you
be just you
for as long as you needed to be
Today I plant flowers and think of you
tough little violas
the flower that keeps blooming
never asking for much
they are at their best when
the tea roses have gone dormant
the trumpet vines are empty brown ropes
the showy sunflowers and hydrangeas and zinnias
are long gone
I will miss you to the end of my days
You loved me with a true love
you let me be
just me
For Mary,
my very favorite mother-in-love