Power Lines

Today, my morning walk found me thinking of power lines.

I see them every day on my drive to work. I grew up knowing they were essential to keeping the lights on. Heavy snow storms could snap them pretty quickly and we’d be out for days before they could get repaired. 

Kelley died two years ago today. It was a weird day--pretty in the morning, the best sort of spring day-- and then tornado warnings started popping up midafternoon just as Angie and Dad made the trek home from Sioux Falls. By nightfall, Kelley had passed and his body was removed from our home. Soon after, a storm hit and snapped a power line in two. By grace, kindness, and tenacity a crew worked all night long to give us this one thing….power.

So in this moment, it’s really hard to think about Mother’s Day as created by Hallmark. It lacks nuance. 

I think of how Josh uttered, “Kelley died” to our Mama and watched as her world shifted in a second. There is no card for that.

I think of how Leslie’s mom died on her birthday and was buried on my mom’s birthday.

I think of the years I tried to have kids and lost babies.

I think of a dear friend who never really knew her birth mom.

I think of all the mamas who will never know their kids by circumstance or choice. 

I think of how, most often, joy is the last thing I consider when it comes to Mother’s Day.

I do not relate to the child being my “greatest joy”, which is not popular to say.

Instead, I think of power.

Instead, I think of the grueling and tenacious storms I have weathered to stay upright in the mothering. I, like many, have had to power through so very much. 

I think about how I love my kids and would exchange my life for theirs, and if there is only one thing I give them which is really what they gave me, it is my power- my energy to right wrongs for them and in the name of them so that one day, they will own their power and do the same.

Power lines.

They snap and break.

And yet they can be restored.

I have been restored by loving hard on my kids in their most difficult stages which makes their growth into young adults sometimes feel miraculous. I did what I did not think could be done.

I have been restored by watching women reinvent their lives long after prime mothering years are over- seeking and finding joy through their ability to set themselves free and live a whole new life.

I have been restored by loving on my own mama. I have found more joy in the last year with my mom than I ever had with her growing up. I guess it’s because all bets are off. Everything can and has happened. 

The only real surprise in life is how far down a person can go and then, rise again.

I renew my power in the company of close friends and family with whom I can say the deepest and truest things. 

This power sets me free and there is so much joy in feeling free. 

Mothering is not about being perfect.

Mothering isn’t even really about raising kids. 

It’s about breaking and rising again.

It’s about knowing you can and will do it over and over again because the one way forward is through setting yourself free of the shame of the way something “should” be and just taking it in for what it is, owning it, saying it, and feeling in your bones the worth of your honesty.

May we offer ourselves our own mothering through our power, our freedom, our joy.