Orchids and a Lake View for Mother's Day

Expanding the Definition of Mothering

Credit: dvoevnore on istockphoto

Notes on Mothering

I found it ten years ago, tucked into a large envelope at my parents' home. In the 2x3-inch photograph, I'm three years old, hugging my mother's knees tightly as her red silk saree billows in the wind. Her face isn't visible, but I can tell it's her by the combination of comfort and joy in my expression. We were visiting India from the U.S., but my location was irrelevant to me. As long as I was with her, I felt at home. 

Only recently did my mother tell me the story behind that photo. She'd been preparing to give a speech at her college alma mater about her experiences living abroad. Standing outside the building, she tried to rehearse her lines, but I wouldn't let her. Instead, I continued to chase and hug, run away and return, over and over again.  

In retrospect, I wish I'd asked her more about that day. What had she discussed during her speech? How had her former teachers and classmates responded? And, importantly, who had kept me from interrupting while she addressed the school? 

One thing I do know: despite my interruptions, she would have spoken to me gently and adjusted to my disruptions patiently. Even in those moments of preparation and tension, my wellbeing would have been more important to her than anything else.

***

The Mother's Day messaging at this time of year still feels difficult for me, but a particular ritual has helped. With her favorite white orchids in tow, I visit an Eagle Creek Park bench dedicated to her memory.  

During those visits, it's impossible not to remember the shock and bewilderment of those nine short months, as a perfectly healthy-seeming person became suddenly ill and slipped away from us. It's impossible not to revisit her arduous and agonizing journey. 

But on this third Mother's Day without her, I hope the balance will shift. In that lovely spot overlooking the water, I hope I'll think more about her beauty and tenderness than about her pain and mine. I hope I'll dwell less on the tragedy that occurred than on my good fortune—that there was a person in the world who cherished me, and who, more than anything else, wanted my wellbeing. 

I frequently write about mothering, the thousand daily acts of support and love for our offspring—the often invisible acts that underlie a child's growth and a young adult's progression. Though never counted in any of the world's measurements of productivity, they require time, effort, dedication, and persistence, often at the expense of the giver's comfort, convenience, plans and energy. 

So often, though, acts like these are also performed for those who aren't our offspring. Some folks nurse the elderly and dying. Others look after and raise children who are not their own. Many lend money, time, resources to those who are suffering, to souls they may never meet. They pull people out of harm's way; they counsel and advise; they ask how can I help? 

Credit: Xesai on istockphoto

I want the definition of mothering to expand, widen, deepen, to encompass all of these acts of needful care, regardless of who performs them. I want to count the acts that acknowledge the inherent worth and value of other human beings, acts by which we include someone else within our sphere of existence. Under the umbrella of that expansion, regardless of biology, connections, and identifications, we can all be mothers. We can mother anyone, and anything, we want to. (You may wish to listen to my poem about this topic.)

I'd like to dedicate this Mother's Day note to the mothers who are with us and those who have passed, and also to every person who has engaged in mothering per our enlarged definition, to every person who has extended kindness, care, and love to another—whether for a few minutes or an entire lifetime. 

Thank you for offering others a safe place to land. Thank you for making them feel at home. 

Happy Mothering Day, my friends. 

Credit: wildpixel on istockphoto

Recommendations:

• Sample Maggie Smith's striking poems on motherhood—how it can be complicated, fraught, difficult to navigate, but also transcendent: "The Mother,"  "Good Bones," and "What I Carried."

• Angela Garbes' book Essential Labor: Mothering as Social Change is an insightful call to assess the value of motherhood (and more particularly, the innumerable acts of caring for the human race) differently and accurately. 

  

• Here are a few of my own writings on this topic: "Honor Thy Mother(hood)," "We Are Trees," "Pandemic Journal: an entry on cut fruit." 

Notes on the Writing Path

• Prompt. I love to hear reader requests, so keep them coming! To those who asked for occasional writing prompts, I pose this question: how would you expand your own definition of "mothering"? Journal or write a poem about what it might mean to mother (a) yourself, (b) an non-human creature or plant, or (c) the earth itself. And please share with me if you're comfortable doing so!

• Presentation. For those who requested a recording of my National Poetry Month reading at the Indianapolis Arts Garden, please see this link.

I appreciate your interest! If you'd like to read more of my work, some of it is featured on my website: DheepaRMaturi.com. 

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In the meantime, I’m so glad you’re here! Thank you for reading, and see you in a few weeks!

-Dheepa