“Can’t never did anything until he tried.” Those words ring through my head. Usually on the tail of some episode in my life of complaining, bitter crying.
My mother recited that overused saying to me on many an occasion.
I must have been a whiny child in the face of difficulty. Oh, the burdens of childhood. Cleaning a room, carrying something heavy, making a bed, folding clothes, clearing a table, picking up a towel, taking a bath, walking to the mailbox, doing homework, going to school, climbing out of a tree, walking up a hill, going to ballet class….the list goes on and on. All the miserable things that I did not want to do. It wasn’t that I could not, it was I did not want. It wasn’t my idea, my plan, my way.
I feel that way now…I scrunch up my face and moan…I can’t.
The things that must be done weigh me down, all of them have become a giant mountain before me. I trudge heavily up the trail, dragging my lip behind. My backpack is weightless compared with my heart. The bruising will heal, the scars will soften. The sheer quantity of memories and tears held within are what burden me and slow me down. I can’t.
The desire to hide, to shelter, to run away, rears up. I sense that there is a call to be still, where I am, here and now. Be still and feel the pain. Be quiet and listen. Let others care. Stop charging ahead. Quit trying to run to the finish line. It is in these moments where you rest, my precious one, that I can give so much. It is here that I have you, for such a time as this.
I can’t.
“Can’t never did anything until he tried.”
Okay. I’ll try.
For you mama.
