It’s not something she could easily explain. She wasn’t even sure herself of what she was feeling. It was deep, and saddening, helpless, yet, lit from within. This thought of the passing of time, that all must go through these complicated, stunning, moving, glimpses of life. In that, there was the odd sense of comfort. That before her there had been the voyage of other mothers that had survived and carved a path for the downhearted and confused mothers arriving soon after. That they somehow took the guess work out and untangled this string of endless feelings, all of which seem to find themselves attached the heart of their own children. How then, could she possibly begin to explain what become a mother felt like.
Some chaotic pursuit of time, such a gut wrenching, paralyzing, honoring and remarkable bittersweet collection of moments that she wished would live on forever. How…
I suppose through photos, and stories, and keepsakes and memories. For through them, eloquent understandings of feelings aren’t needed. Much can be said without words. And perhaps that is all it is. Moments without words. For the moments are far too beautiful, and precious and heartbreaking for any mothers to truly describe.
Yet she still tries.
