Autumn is upon us, and the village is immersed in vibrant
deep colors of gold, red and amber. The
mountain maples shine in deep rich colors, the season displays magnificent
scenery, and the sun sets to a sky filled with crimson clouds and a painted sky
of red and gold. The days have
transitioned to crisp afternoons and cozy cool nights; it’s the time of harvest
and abundance as we prepare for winter.
Autumn will quietly deepen and the leaves will burst with
intense color over the next few weeks.
Then as softly as it entered it will begin to drift away as the leaves
fall to cover the road in what looks like a patchwork quilt.
It is also the time of year that the children start back to
school. In my last letter, I mentioned
that my oldest would be leaving home for the first time to attend college. I found as that day approached that my
thoughts were once again on you as you bid farewell to so many of your children
one by one.
A mother’s love is a dimension only understood once you
enter it and is almost impossible to describe.
How do you describe the perfect combination of the autumn covered
mountains to someone who is blind, or a melody that brings you to tears to a
person who is deaf? Its knowing that you
will endure the greatest joy and sorrow in your life, and yet, still be willing
to enter that realm called motherhood.
Being a mother means that at times we will have the softest
touch as we bath our newborn, be brave as we look under the bed for a noise our
six year-old said sounded like a monster, be tender as we comfort our teenager
who has just suffered a broken heart, and be tough in a way that will
contradict our femininity.
As you watched Martha, your first-born leave home, did you
wonder if you could have done more? Was
what you gave her and taught her enough?
Did you question why in that moment you felt your heart swell with pride
and admiration for the person they have become, and yet feel a profound sadness
and emptiness as you realize that the baby you held in your arms is now walking
to the next chapter in their lives?
How strong a woman you must have been Roxana to endure that
moment so many times in a mother’s journey.
I wish I could sit with you right now, share a cup of coffee as we sit
on the porch, two mothers, a journey shared by motherhood, more profound as I
tell you about your fifth great-grandson and the man he has become.
Your loving great, great, great, great-granddaughter
