Camilleon

When I picked up the pieces to put myself back together, I found that everything was now on a different hue. 

A touch of sadness tints my days. I’ll look down and see my daughter holding my hand and reminisce on being that young and having my hands held tight by a wonderful mother. 

I carry my mother with me everywhere. I will never be covered by her love again, but I now envelop my daughter in the same threads of my mother’s love. As we glide to sleep I whisper “your Bubu loved you so much, Nina.”

The day Nina was born was the day that I meditated on the mother now reflected in the mirror and every mother that came before me. I saw us all. Every detail of our faces reflected back to me. Each of us carrying pieces of each other. 

I’ll look down at my abdomen’s stretch marks and hear my mother telling me “These are marks of my love for you, I cherish these stretch marks. They’re a sign that you were once here.” I take pride in the marks that were left from carrying my daughter, evidence of how we’re forever bonded.

I think of her loving me like I love Nina, and I see it so clearly now. I live in constant gratitude to the mother that cared for me, when it was the most challenging to care for us. The mother who showed up over and over. The mother who worked, and was present when we got home. The mother who gathered us every night to pray and meditate in the word. I see what she did for us, now that I am on the other end of it. I see how challenging and sacrificial it is, but at the same time so wonderful it is to be a mother. A love like yours permeates, it’s timeless, it lives on in us.