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It's been almost five years since I lost my mom and just when I think, mother's day - it's all good, I'm cool! Totally got this!...well, you can probably guess where this is going. Let me walk you through all the feels this weekend, assisted with the imagery of Leslie Knope of Parks and Rec.… Continue reading My mother’s day, as told with Leslie Knope gifs
Today is going to be a good day.
When I started writing this blog I had no idea the blog's name -- mourning dove motherhood--would take on so many varied meanings. I originally named the blog in honor of all the mourning doves that visited me shortly after my mom died. I had no idea that I'd go on to grieve more motherhood related… Continue reading I just don’t like your uterus
Can we talk about how hard April has been? Really hard. You would think I'd be prepared, knowing it's the cruellest month and all. But nope. There has been an endless onslaught of bad news for people I care about. Tragedy, loss, injustice. One after another. (I need to close my FB feed for real.)… Continue reading Where the rubber meets the road
I think it's time to forgive all the Sarahs. Heck, not just forgive them -- thank them! They were doing the best they could. They had lessons to learn! I couldn't be who I am today without them. Wait, this is sounding like an acceptance speech . . . "I'd like to thank the academy,… Continue reading I’d like to thank all the Sarahs . . .
Certainly I've been thinking about my late mom (Diane), and the grandmother I never met (Elizabeth), and her cousins (names unknown) on the genetic chart, called a pedigree. I've been thinking about other women too. Debby and Angela, two women I knew and admired, both not much older than myself, who died recently of breast cancer. Circles blackened and crossed out.
Before there were synced calendars and day planners and even before there were trapper keepers, there was a little girl who sat in trees. She sat in the trees for what felt like hours, though it might have been mere minutes. She dreamed, journal-ed and sketched. She transported to a place of joy and bliss, cradled in the crooks of maples and oaks, conversing with imaginary beings.
To accept vitality as your birthright means to accept that these states of being matter in the first place. That joy matters. That how you are is as important as what you do. Like most people I didn't arrive to these lessons through sitting in the light.