Those who know a mother's love. . .





Wesley and Pooh . 6" x 8" . oil on panel

It's the day after the Boston bombing and I truly wish I had something worthwhile, something wondrous, something inspiring to say that would make it better.  I've been numbed to complete silence though, and I'm wondering if there are others who feel the same?  If ever there was a time to be loftily articulate it's now, but I find I don't even know where to begin. . .I have nothing more to add to what has been traveling through your own minds, hearts and souls.  Down-to-the-bone-sadness competes with numbness. . .overpowered by the thought that talk seems cheap right now.  So I'll stay quiet and offer no platitudes of strength and carry on.

 

I've also been thinking about the mothers of the world and those who are fortunate enough to feel and be supported by a mother's love.  There is no greater power, is there?  Whoever accomplished the destructive evil of yesterday has a mother, and beyond that single fact of recognition I'm not sure where to go with that thought.  I will go out on a limb though and say I doubt he/she ever felt the cradle of soft, unconditional mother love.  That seems unfathomable. 

 

A mother's love and tender touch colors our world from the womb until our last breath, long after they have left us to face the world without their physical presence.  What remains is the memory, the full-heartedness of knowing that special bond - but more than the "knowing of it" is the "feeling of it."  I still vividly recall/feel my own mother's tenderness whenever I was sick - how loved she made me feel, how deeply cared for.  I'm not sure there's anything else that compares.  Who do we think of in our darkest hours?  The one who nurtured us beyond compare.   

 

Hence, a mother's love has been on my mind for a lot of reasons - but mainly because of the above commissioned painting, just completed, of a beloved son.  The very fact that it depicts a scene from more than thirty years ago is a testament to what moves his mother's heart deeply.  Here she still sees her three-year-old son showing his deep devotion and love for his "Pooh" along with the early, determined spirit that has carried him into a successful adult life as a Major in the Air Force, soon to complete his second Master's and begin a third.  This child, this vision, brings his mother to tears even today.  Deep-rooted, powerful, the nurturing of a babe - it never stops no matter what their age.  It goes beyond what we know and travels into the mystical fabric of our lives, this devotion to our children.  The pleasure and yes, pain of it all cannot be surpassed and lives deep in a mother's core. 

 

Oh how I wish that all children could be comforted and loved and held in a mother's warm embrace to hear her beating heart. . .to feel to their very toes the unexplainable bond that is shared.  I am a dreamer of dreams, but tonight I'm sure many mothers are grieving and yet giving solace and soft shoulders to lean upon.  I offer my greatest blessings to them all.