Tuesday, May 13, 2008
A Rocky Mother's Day
My grandfather's birthday was Mother's Day. We were all going to gather to celebrate this last birthday with him. He surprised us by not showing up for the event himself. The phone rang at 11 the night before the party with the news.
We all decided to gather anyway. I needed that time, I think we all did. Part of the time was spent looking at old photographs and laughing at the memories that go with each. One image was of a trip to Colorado on which my grandmother filled the trunk of the car up with rocks for her garden. Apparently, this is a hereditary trait. When I was little, I would collect rocks and fill up my dresser drawer with the "collection."
So, after a long weekend, and a trying drive back, I took the Kiddo to the park for some time to run and play. We came home with about 10 pebbles that she had to collect. I saved them. On the dresser.
My mother's day present is in the photo here. My spouse bought it for me before the weekend. What a strange life it is, that, even in the rockiest moments, there is humor and continuity. There is the realization that all things are connected; be it life and death, the generations of our families that continue throughout, or just a weird thing for rocks.
It seems so tiny, this life. Just like one of the Kiddo's pebbles. And yet, what is a pebble but rock? Small, yes, but the very same as the greatest of mountains. We are all One.
I struggle with this. I have faith in that One, but I'm human. Resting in my shade garden, evening sun on his peaceful countenance, the Buddha Rock smiles at me and waits for me to understand.
Happy Mother's Day.