Tag Archives: mother’s day

JAMIE’S BLOG – YEAR 7 – KINDNESS  DAY :: 131 finding nemo

14 May

Fishy. 

We watched fish swim today. Inside a pet store. As we stood there taking in all the different kinds of fish I pointed and yelled “Dory!” and then “Nemo!”

As we walked down the aisle I heard a small child yell the same thing behind me. And then another. “Dory!’ “Nemo!”

It made me think about the power of stories, and the universal search for family. Even stories about fish can bring out the true power of love in us human families. So on this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about the power of love, and finding family in those we love. And those who love us back. Whether it is Moms, Grandmas, Mother-in-Laws or Fairy Godmothers.

Here’s to family. And Moms. All the moms who help us find our stories.

More tomorrow….
Lovemore,
Jamie

{family}
#lovemore

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JAMIE’S BLOG – YEAR 6 – YOGA DAY 128 :: mother nature’s mother day 

8 May

Day 128: Low tide.

Today was one of the many extreme low tides ushering in spring and summer here on the west coast. It was also Mother’s Day.

Which couldn’t be more fitting as Mother Nature rolled back the ocean curtain and exposed some of her most beautiful scenes during a bright and sunny low tide. Most not seen on a normal day at high noon.

Bright purple clam shells.

Uncovered mossy rocks.

Sunbathing starfish.

So many colors — and so meaningful to me that there was much in the color purple. Of course, it is not ironic that purple was my Mama Sling’s favorite color. And, of course, I thought of her deeply today.

But I have to say, it was all lovely. This was a Mother’s Day of nothing but pure love and lightness. A milestone for me, really. There was no sting, no longing, no hole to be filled, no rawness to slather. Nothing but pure love.

It says much about my own journey, the one of a daughter who lost her mother too soon. But I think it says more about my healing, a practice I have been honing for years. More than anything, it says everything about my mother, the one who filled me with nothing but love, as if she knew that someday, no matter what, even when she was gone, I would somehow (finally) understand. When all the pain was gone only love would remain.

And it does remain. Which is a good reminder to me and I think to everyone, really.

We are the love that we leave behind. Whether it is with our friends, family, foes or forgottens. Every interaction counts. Every moment matters. Every choice is ours to choose love.

To love.

And so, it is not ironic to me that today was an extreme low tide. That has been my experience for so many Mother’s Days of the past. The extreme longing leaving me so low. But what I understood today, in a way I have never really understood before, is if you look closely, even in a low tide there is beauty and bounty. There are flowers and fish and shells and birds and waves of kelp.

And life.
So, Mother Nature, thank you. It was a beautiful showing for a beautiful day.
Happy Mother’s Day to everyone who mothers during low and high tides.

More tomorrow.
Lovemore,
Jamie

P.S. Yoooooooooga next!!

{low tide?}
#lovemoredomore

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JAMIE’S BLOG – YEAR 6 – YOGA DAY 127 happy day

7 May

Day 127: Mothers. 

It’s late…. I’m running out of time to post this blog, but I am here to say that’s for a very good reason.

A happy day. An early Mother’s Day. A day in the garden. Building a rock garden… out of rocks.

For a mother that rocks.
Happy day!

More tomorrow.
Lovemore,
Jamie
{happy day?}
#lovemoredomore

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Jamie’s BLOG – DAY 130 :: to all the moms

11 May

Happy Mother’s Day! To all the mommies, mammas, mothers and mama mias.

While right now I am just a mommy to four-legged kids, I couldn’t be more lucky with the moms I’ve shared in my life.

It’s been almost fifteen years without my own mom in my life. But Mama Sling left a shining example on my heart and in my life. And it couldn’t be more beautiful since the “mom” in my life now was her best friend then.

And today I was blessed to share Mother’s Day with Jaynane.

We toured the local vineyards and tasted the local wine. As we sat in adirondack chairs, soaking in the sunshine, sipping Syrah, and starring at the Applegate Valley, I couldn’t help but wonder if my own mother was looking down upon us.

There are some things that a mother always leaves with you, even when she is no longer psychically around. Sometimes it’s a song, a saying, a recipe, a reminder, a photo album, a baby book, a diary or a love letter.

Even though Mama Sling will always be with me, in my heart and in the shining rays of light that bounce of the beautiful moments of my life, she also left me something else.  Her best friend. And I couldn’t feel luckier.

Moms love.
Love moms.

More tomorrow.
Lovemore,
Jamie

{happy mother’s day}

Jamie’s BLOG – DAY 129 :: succulent shoes

10 May

I’m two weeks out of surgery. Wow! I am constantly amazed at the power of modern medicine and the healing abilities of the body.

And, now, I can proudly say that I can almost place my arms above my head — and believe me, this is progress.

But tonight, what I really want to share is for the feet. I spotted these succulent shoes on the street today (to be fair it was a street fair).

And they were beauties!

And that’s my beauty spot of the day.

More tomorrow.
Lovemore,
Jamie

{happy mother’s day!}

Day 133: may your mother be with you

13 May

There’s really no better way for me to share how I feel on this day, than to share what I wrote last year on Mother’s Day.  The blog post is re-published below.

But, in the end, this day is always a story about LOVE.

So, in honor of LOVE,  here are some photos that I love of my Mama Sling and me — in sickness and in health from when I was age 17 to age 21.

May your mother be with you.
Wherever she may be. 


Happy Mother’s Day.
xo~Jamie

***

Mother-less Day
first published: May 8, 2011 

It is Mother-less Day for me, this May 8th, a.k.a. “Mother’s Day”.

I feel deeply for all of us motherless daughters and sons on this day.

This day, a celebration of the physical delivery of flowers, or brunch, or greeting cards. A day dedicated to waking up with a surprise breakfast in bed, or going to sleep with warm mommy hugs and kisses at night.

I couldn’t even call my mom if I wanted to.
She is somewhere so very far away not even Verizon could get her on the line to confirm “can you hear me now?”

But, I know in my heart she can hear me.

Here’s the crazy part, as in, you are going to think me crazy when you read this: I can feel my mother with me.

She may be physically departed, her train left the station long ago, but she shows up in my life in the most amazing ways.

In my car. In my dreams. Through songs on the radio.

The first time it happened was soon after returning from Mama Sling’s funeral. I woke up in a daze in the middle of the night.

There in my dream she appeared.
A healthy and vibrant version of my mother, not the chemotherapy drained one. She was beautiful and happy and in the drivers seat of her mini van. I was in the passengers seat.

As we drove down the main street of my hometown she asked how each of my family members were doing post funeral. I reported back on my sister and my father, and then as we approached the main intersection of the busiest road in town, the light turned yellow.

Instead of hitting the brakes to slow the car down, my dear Mama Sling, the most patient and graceful person I had ever known, hit the gas.

I screamed in horror. “Mom! The light! The light is turning red!”

She just turned and looked me directly in the eyes with a knowing and gentle smile on her face, “I know Jamie, but we just have to keep going.”

It was just a dream. But in it she was very real to me. And her message to me was also very clear. Don’t stop, not on her account.

Keep going.
And I did.

A few years later she returned.

The day I was married she showed up in the Santorini sunset overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. As I walked out into the sunlight, all dressed in white and about to take my vows (and unbeknownst to me at the time, an unfortunate plunge into the wrong marriage) I felt the light of sky hit my cheeks. I knew Mama Sling was with me.

Then, the night after I escaped the darkest days of my misfortunate marriage, I had another dream.

I was sitting by a pool with my mother. All of a sudden (as only a dream could command) a baby in a pink striped bikini was drowning in the water. My mother helped me scoop the baby out of the water and showed me how to swaddle her in a blanket.

Mama Sling put the baby in my arms, cooing at her and instructing me on the proper way to hold her and caress the tiny thing.

When I awoke I realized the baby was wearing a bikini with the same color pink striped shirt I owned. A light bulb went off in my brain: the baby is me!

My mother was telling me to take care of myself, to baby myself in this time of great difficulty and despair.

It felt like an otherworldly moment.
More than a dream, or subconscious thought, or even a movie or a story. It felt like a primordial hug, the kind I may no longer attain in this physical world, the kind that only occurs when a mother embraces her child.

I could tell you more stories, and share more moments I have experienced in the years since my mother’s death. The songs that come out of nowhere on the radio, the coincidences that pile up, continually, to point where I don’t question it anymore.

I just look up to the sky and blow Mama Sling a kiss.

I could share all of this with you, at the risk that you think it crazy.

Unless of course, you too have lost your mother, then I suppose, you too might already know.

If you are like me, maybe you can’t buy flowers or a card or gifts wrapped up in pretty paper. And, maybe you can’t share a hug or a laugh or even a phone call. In the end, what we are left with is a thought, a memory, a feeling, a connection, or a dream. And, that, above all is else is what counts.

So, to all my dear motherless daughters and motherless sons, I wish you a happy Mother-less Day, and even more so, I wish you those magical moments on the most spectacular of days, those days when you know, in your heart, your mother is with you.

Day 128: mother-less day

8 May

It is Mother-less Day for me, this May 8th, a.k.a. “Mother’s Day”.

I feel deeply for all of us motherless daughters and sons on this day.

This day, a celebration of the physical delivery of flowers, or brunch, or greeting cards. A day dedicated to waking up with a surprise breakfast in bed, or going to sleep with warm mommy hugs and kisses at night.

I couldn’t even call my mom if I wanted to.
She is somewhere so very far away not even Verizon could get her on the line to confirm “can you hear me now?”

But, I know in my heart she can hear me.

Here’s the crazy part, as in, you are going to think me crazy when you read this: I can feel my mother with me.

She may be physically departed, her train left the station long ago, but she shows up in my life in the most amazing ways.

In my car. In my dreams. Through songs on the radio.

The first time it happened was soon after returning from Mama Sling’s funeral.  I woke up in a daze in the middle of the night.

There in my dream she appeared.
A healthy and vibrant version of my mother, not the chemotherapy drained one.  She was beautiful and happy and in the drivers seat of her mini van. I was in the passengers seat.

As we drove down the main street of my hometown she asked how each of my family members were doing post funeral.  I reported back on my sister and my father, and then as we approached the main intersection of the busiest road in town, the light turned yellow.

Instead of hitting the brakes to slow the car down, my dear Mama Sling, the most patient and graceful person I had ever known, hit the gas.

I screamed in horror. “Mom! The light!  The light is turning red!”

She just turned and looked me directly in the eyes with a knowing and gentle smile on her face, “I know Jamie, but we just have to keep going.”

It was just a dream.  But in it she was very real to me.  And her message to me was also very clear.  Don’t stop, not on her account. 

Keep going.
And I did.

A few years later she returned.

The day I was married she showed up in the Santorini sunset overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. As I walked out into the sunlight, all dressed in white and about to take my vows (and unbeknownst to me at the time, an unfortunate plunge into the wrong marriage) I felt the light of sky hit my cheeks. I knew Mama Sling was with me.

Then, the night after I escaped the darkest days of my misfortunate marriage, I had another dream.

I was sitting by a pool with my mother.  All of a sudden (as only a dream could command) a baby in a pink striped bikini was drowning in the water. My mother helped me scoop the baby out of the water and showed me how to swaddle her in a blanket.

Mama Sling put the baby in my arms, cooing at her and instructing me on the proper way to hold her and caress the tiny thing.

When I awoke I realized the baby was wearing a bikini with the same color pink striped shirt I owned.  A light bulb went off in my brain: the baby is me! 

My mother was telling me to take care of myself, to baby myself in this time of great difficulty and despair.

It felt like an otherworldly moment. 
More than a dream, or subconscious thought, or even a movie or a story.  It felt like a primordial hug, the kind I may no longer attain in this physical world, the kind that only occurs when a mother embraces her child.

I could tell you more stories, and share more moments I have experienced in the years since my mother’s death.  The songs that come out of nowhere on the radio, the coincidences that pile up, continually, to point where I don’t question it anymore.

I just look up to the sky and blow Mama Sling a kiss.

I could share all of this with you, at the risk that you think it crazy.

Unless of course, you too have lost your mother, then I suppose, you too might already know.

If you are like me, maybe you can’t buy flowers or a card or gifts wrapped up in pretty paper.  And, maybe you can’t share a hug or a laugh or even a phone call. In the end, what we are left with is a thought, a memory, a feeling, a connection, or a dream. And, that, above all is else is what counts.

So, to all my dear motherless daughters and motherless sons, I wish you a happy Mother-less Day, and even more so, I wish you those magical moments on the most spectacular of days, those days when you know, in your heart, your mother is with you.

Day 125: mary, mary

5 May

Today is my father’s birthday.
And this is his mother, my grandmother:

For a while she was called “Mangra” only because my sister switched the two syllables around in her little toddler brain.

Other than that short-lived mispronunciation, she was known as Grandma Mary.

With Mother’s Day upon us, I am reminded I no longer have a living mother or grandmother. My lineage of direct female ascendants has dwindled to just my sister and myself.

I certainly have fond memories of time spent with my mother, Mama Sling.  But, today, being the day of my father’s birth, I was thinking about Grandma Mary.

There’s Grandma Mary’s infamous baked beans recipe, her perfectly teased hair, her stacks of People magazine, and that finger nail polish!  I remember the day she told me it was about time I should start sucking in my tummy, because every girl wants a flat tummy!

There’s also one specifically special memory I have from spending a summer afternoon with Grandma Mary.

I was probably around the age of eight and given the very responsible task of helping Grandma Mary organize the numerous drawers in her pea green colored kitchen.

As I was stacking pencils, checking to see if pens still had ink by drawing circle after circle on pads of paper, and making piles of papers, I pulled out a black and white photo of a beautiful young woman in a striking dress.

As I held the photo in my hand, it felt precious, like a photo from a glossy magazine spread.

With complete seriousness, I questioned Grandma Mary about the photo. “Who is this pretty woman?”

Grandma Mary howled with laughter and looked at me with surprise. 

I didn’t think it was a funny question.
I just wanted to know who the pretty lady was with the really stylish dress.

Turns out, it was Grandma Mary.
Before she was a Grandma, or Mangra, or even a Mama.

I couldn’t believe my grandma once looked like that gorgeous lady. I guess it was the first time in my life that I really understood what it meant to “age” and grow older, not just taller with each passing year.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in Grandma Mary’s kitchen. 

Just us two girls. 
It was a rare moment, me having hoards of cousins, aunts and uncles.

It felt magical and mystical as she told me stories of her youth and explained all the photos in her keepsake drawer.

She even showed me the birth certificate of her babies, the ones that didn’t make it in this world.  The twins, the still birth.  I can still see those little baby feet in black ink that were pressed on the weathered page.

Looking back, I’m sure my grandmother was doing my mother and father a favor, helping watch over me on some summery afternoon while school was out.

In my little heart that day was precious.
Grandma Mary unveiled more than photos and papers, pretty dresses and funny stories. She handed me a thread to hold onto, a connection to a line of women who came before me.

If Grandma Mary were still with us, she would barely recognize the shape of my life, let alone make sense of the pace of it.

I kind of doubt she would get this whole “blog” thing, although she might follow People.com!

But, I do know:
She certainly would appreciate a day at the spa.

Happy Mother’s Day, Dear Grandma Mary.
Thank you for giving me my dad, the gift of gab, and the deep appreciation of a good dress.  

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