Admitting

I need a momma.  Not the mother that I have.  Not the one who gave birth to me and brought me into this crazy, mixed-up world doped up on twilight drugs so that she wouldn't have to feel anything.  Not the one who has lived her entire life in a completely irresponsible way, banking on the idea that her responsible daughter and hard-working son-in-law would serve as her retirement plan.  Not the mother who has betrayed me time and time again, all the while knowing that my heart is far too loyal and much too tender for me to take off to a tropical island with no forwarding address.  Not the mother who calls me up, and without even taking a breath, marches directly into a diatribe about who did what to her this week, and then wonders why she knows so little about my health condition.  And most of the time, I am okay with needing a momma.  I really, really am.  I have a wonderful, loving husband.  I have a father who is not only my father but a man who I genuinely like.  A lot.  And of course, I have my miraculous angel daughters.  Four of them.  And soaking in their love is one of the greatest gifts of my life.  But after coming home from a doctor's appointment like the one I had today, feeling totally depleted, I just need a momma.  And there is nothing that can replace that lonely feeling of wanting to be able to just melt into a puddle of tears while having a mom there to listen.  And advise.  Or not.

I find ways to nurture myself that are safe and comforting.  I surround myself with cats and dogs and birds, all creatures who will love unconditionally if we allow them to.  I am sure that part of the reason that I had baby after baby after baby after baby was because of my inherent need to encircle myself within a cocoon spun with love and connection and security.  For me, just as much for them.  And it has worked, for the most part.  Except on the days when I need a momma.

So I look towards God, towards Mother Nature, towards the angels to guide me when I am sapped of energy.  I open myself up to the ocean, to the sun, and to the stars.  I remind myself that all of this, all that I have been blessed with, is truly enough.  Yet I cannot help but feel that empty place in my spirit which yearns for something that I will not have during this lifetime.  I mourn, not for the loss of, but for the lack of.  And then I send love out to all of the other momma-less daughters who come home from a doctor's appointment needing something that can never be.  And I thank God that the births of my own daughters were more than just twilight induced dreams after which someone just happened to hand me a baby.  A stranger in my arms.  How did you get here, little one?  I thank God for the sweat and the tears and the joy of being a momma.  And I thank God that my angel daughters will not be daughters who have to do without.

Solitude/Loneliness

To me, this is what solitude looks like.  Solitude is quiet.  Solitude is transformative.  Solitude is a place away from much of the excess noise of life.  Solitude is desirable.  And yet, one of the synonyms for the word solitude is loneliness.  Something that carries with it a very negative connotation.  Solitude seems to be seclusion by choice.  Loneliness implies that someone might feel shut out of the world by exclusion.  Two words that carry the same basic meaning, yet when compared to one another, the words solitude and loneliness mean very different things.
Standing on the bluff in front of my home on the fourth of July, I felt a sudden surge of loneliness that caught me by surprise.  I was not alone, Mark, Angel Daughter Number Three and her boyfriend were all present with me.  My neighbors were all outside, talking, laughing and enjoying the beautiful firework display.  But towards the end of the display, I decided to remain outside to watch other shows that could be seen in the distance.  It was then that it struck me.  Loneliness.
On any given day, I can step outside to view the huge expanse of sunlit glass which stretches out before me, and experience nothing but peace.  I can take in the inherent smallness of being a single, human soul while still feeling somehow connected.  I can breathe in the breeze that comes in off of the ocean, teeming with the scents of life.  I can even perceive the relationship that I have to the massive flocks of seabirds who float effortlessly on the surface of the water searching for food.
And in viewing those seabirds which congregate by the hundreds, their presence emotes in me a solitude that is nowhere near a feeling of loneliness.  I am alone, but I am in no way lonely.
Other days, the scene might change, but my feeling of comfortable solitude does not.  I might stand ashore watching sailboats carrying their sailors out to sea, but once again, I feel a sense of connection.  The feeling that we are all bound by that particular moment in time.  A simple snapshot, in which everything and everyone appears as it should be.  Solitude in unison.
And when I walk the beaches, the discovery of a single, brilliant piece of seaglass can draw me out of any sense of loneliness that I might be experiencing.  Each tiny piece, a reminder to me that I am never alone.  Not really.  
Yet, sometimes, even in the midst of large crowds of people and exploding fireballs of color raining down from the sky, it is possible to feel very, very lonely.  And that is okay.
It is okay because loneliness and solitude are two sides of the very same coin.  And sometimes, when solitude becomes a little bit too familiar, loneliness steps in to keep us from becoming overly reclusive.  Sometimes, we need sudden moments of loneliness in order to remind ourselves of how important it is to stay connected to other people.  Like a small piece of seaglass that turns up in precisely the right place on the path that we are walking, moments of loneliness can also turn up as an important reminder to stay balanced.

This Thursday, July 9, will be my forty-seventh birthday.  Angel Daughter Number One shared a bit of her soul-felt wisdom with me, the other day, by reminding me that a birthday is a time to celebrate oneself.  It often amazes me that such words of awareness, can come from someone so young in years.  So, in order not to allow myself too much solitude on my birthday, I am announcing it here.  In the coming year, I intend to celebrate not only those whom I love and adore, but myself, as well.  It is time.  And life is not never-ending.  Thank you for dropping that bit of seaglass wisdom in my path, AD1.