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Proud Mother

Jill Welsh
Romsey, Great Britain
From New Beginnings, Vol. 25 No. 6, 2008-09, p. 19

When she was little, my daughter, Sam, brought me beautiful calendars made with cardboard and ribbons suspending tiny books of dates, decorated with finger paints, or varnished leaves, or cut out pictures. As she became bigger these gifts of love, made with her fair hands, evolved into more sophisticated offerings. We had drawings created by her, photos taken by her, then, one year it was a basic computer printout calendar with a square for each day. Then, computer generated pictures, family photos, then a CD for the desktop on my computer, a family picture for each month, and even a professionally printed one with family photos she had taken artistically displayed. But the calendar I want to share with you is the year she wanted a poem. She hunted high and low for a poem that she felt was me. She also wanted to illustrate the pages with meaningful things to us both.

As usual, on Christmas morning she handed me the package, saying, "This is your calendar." I opened it, and was touched by the poem. As tears came to my eyes, I asked her where she had found such a beautiful poem. And she said "I couldn't find one that said what I wanted, so I wrote it for you." This poem was written in different fonts for each month, with, for instance, the word "mummy" written in silver pen outlining six hearts for March, which is my birthday month, alongside the poem. And the words "certainty," strength," kindness," "love, and "joy" in different fonts and colors randomly across the page for September, and "thanksgiving" written in silver pen outlining a star down the side for November.

I hope you enjoy it too. I think I must also add she is now 32, beautiful, artistic, clever (mother's prejudice), and is a staunch breastfeeding supporter.

Adapted from a letter in LLLGB NEWS

Time's Legacy

Mama, mummy, mum,
Called endlessly
Days and nights and days
Of work and love.
And how do we illustrate
All that work, all that love, all the time?

Referencing the same source.
Singing out the same songs.
Patterning out.
Teaching what we've been taught,
Living what we have learnt,
Echoing your melody.
Endlessly reflecting,
Refracting and refinings,
All your work, all your love, all the time.

So what do we show?
What are our echoes?
Sound us out.

Reverberating out from
All that work all that love all the time,
Find strength, certainty, love, kindness, joy,
Patterns build up from the womb.
The echo of you in all we do,
All we strive for, all we believe.

A legacy of love passed from parent to child,
Tumbling through time.
All the time.

Samantha Cairns

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