Mothering

I do not know how she does it, 

drives the stick shift with one hand, 

feeds a banana to her toddler son with the other, 

avoids the detour bumps along Adelbert Road. 

Today, Anne gave me the simple job of holding 

the bowl of Cheerios for Sheridan, 

and, within seconds, I had lost control over the Tupperware

and the cereal was all over the grass. 

How do mothers mother? 

Keep all of the objects in motion,

opening umbrellas, explaining automatic doors?

Answer every question thrown at them, 

in mumble language half unclear? 

No, there is nothing in the truck. 

Yes, you can throw a penny into the fountain. 

Margaret is going with the nurse, 

yes, nurses help doctors. 

It is endless and all I can do is marvel. 

My neighbor seems to know the right thing

to reply to every inquiry, even the hard ones. 

When Tavish asked her what grace is, 

she said, "It is the thing within you, 

that makes you kind even when that is hard." 

Good enough for a two and half year old. 

Good enough for me, too, actually. 

I want to access that open ready wisdom. 

I want mom's advice now that my mother is gone. 

I want to trail behind Anne 

and let my questions mingle with her son's.  

Maybe she will just answer them, 

quickly, surely, without realizing they are coming from me,

someone who should know the answers by now. 

What is the point to suffering?

When will I feel myself within myself again?

How big can my heart get?

When will I let the next someone in?

Will my hope conquer my fear? 

How am I to express my love now?

I can almost hear her, 

the answers I need rendered in short, 

easy to understand sentences.  

To learn, 

when you are ready, 

as big as it needs to be, 

when you are ready, 

if you let it, 

how ever you want to, 

whenever you are ready.