Monday, May 06, 2013

Monday for Moms

Welcome to my May-only Monday feature, with excerpts about moms.  Since I'm a daughter myself, I tend to write from that perspective.

Starting out, a brief piece from Flow, after Kit has discovered her grandfather - her mother's father - is a medium:

Kit shifted to face him. A question buzzed on her lips. "Then at least you owe me one thing," she said. "You can talk to the spirits of the dead. What about my mother?" And why doesn't she talk to me, she wondered, fingers moving up to the hidden necklace.

"Only once." His expression turned rueful. "I was not speaking from empty platitude when I told you months ago that she wanted you to have every happiness. Her last words were hope for you, and she went beyond in the belief you were safe."

Kit sat numb, the words pouring like so much sand through her head. It went unvoiced that it was somehow her fault - that Eleanor had done something, stood in the way of someone, defended her daughter with her life. It was a debt no answers could ever repay. Kit burrowed against his shoulder, too disciplined - too old, or maybe just too dry, after the past day and a half - to cry, but she could cling and hold onto ignorance for a little longer. 

After a bit, she tipped her head up to look at him. "Was my mother a sorceress?" she asked.

Arthur rubbed her shoulder, sighing. "If she was, I never saw it. It seems unlikely, but if she gave it up before she had you … perhaps. I wish I could give you her legacy, Enid, but I've nothing but memories."

It was another unanswerable question. Kit nodded against his chest.

"Tell me about what you see," she said, as she had from the time she could form the words.

Arthur led her into the solarium with one hand on her back. They sat in the semi-dark and watched the play of the shadows. He spoke of the footprints of fairy dances and the cobwebs of spells done and undone - and for the first time in years, she believed him.

... or as my own mother (deathly afraid of sharks) would say:  "Lindsey, I'd jump into shark water for you.  For your father, I'd just yell, 'Swim fast!'"

It's not all about life-and-death drama, of course.  often, it's a matter of Mom knowing when the system is wrong:  when to have faith in her child and seek another explanation.  For me as a child, terrible headaches (and behavioral issues because I felt so miserable) stemmed from environmental and food allergies, when the latter were considered something of a fringe science.  I'm fortunate to have had a mother who pursued the research and listened to her own instincts.

... and to have lived inland.

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