Cleansing

Today I bathed our little god. The basin warm and soft, smelling faintly of lavender. Incense swirling around our ritual. I worshiped the roundness of his belly and the plumpness of his cheeks. He was in bliss discovering even more deeply his relationship with his feet-- concentrating on their movement, trying very hard to catch them with his hands. He smiled happily in his little cocoon of discovery.

He enjoys the water, I like to think it reminds him of where he came from. When his skin experiences the sensation of the wet warmth of the bath his eyes alight with recognition, like he is saying, "I remember this." And we both grin. I remember it too. Our gentle months of internal connection, I have no doubt we communicated then just as we do now. The switch between that internal relationship and this external one can be jarring at times, for both of us. But on days like this I feel we are adjusting well in this fourth trimester.

Often times I feel as though I am decoding a very secret and special message by knowing this little soul. Each time I understand his wishes I am just blown away with pride. And the emotions that come when I can't quite figure it out? Well, those are the moments when I feel possible the most helpless I have in my entire life. The complexity of this relationship is astounding.

It is startling the juxtaposition of death that has developed during this time of new life. I have been holding sacred space today for my Mamaw, Margaret Ann, and my mother. The depth of the feelings I am experiencing with my Mamaw on the cusp of passing are raw. Today I allowed myself to spiral gently into them, resisting the urge to distract myself away from them. Becoming a mother has added a new complexity between the relationship my mother and I abide in. And now, with the possibility of her mother passing beyond this world of air the feminine wound that is present in my being is beginning to throb again. I think about the relationship my mother has with her mother, about how she named me after her and that must mean something special and deep. I remember little stories I have heard about my Mamaw: how she used to put her hose on in the car on the way to church because her mornings were spent trying to ready her six children; how one night my papaw (a recovered alcoholic) came home so drunk and was causing a ruckus and she hit him upside the head with a frying pan. I don't know many stories about my Mamaw, so I have taken to trying to imagine what it must have been like to love an alcoholic, to raise six children with a partner so crippled by addiction. And I think about her life now, how she has surrendered her body to care for my mentally ailing Papaw who's identity is only secure in the light and presence of my Mamaw, he cannot remember his children or grandchildren, but he knows the love his wife has for him and it is his world.

In this time of honoring saints I honor my Mamaw.

(more bath photos here)

Comments

[Jess]

My relationship with my mother has changed, too. I think on the whole I am much more understanding, forgiving, and in awe of her than ever before. Now that I see how hard (and wonderful) a child can be, I have so much admiration for her strength in raising two children, by herself for the most part. Mothers are amazing! I'm sorry to hear about your Mamaw, but I'm glad you have those great stories about her.