Song of Vivian

This week, I participated in Ethical ELA’s 5-day Open Write and was inspired by Amber Harrison’s prompt – Fill in the Blanks.  This prompt was based on Walt Whitman’s poem, “Song of Myself.” Amber tasked us with writing a poem celebrating someone or something.  Since this week also marks what would have been her 102^nd  birthday, I wrote a poem to celebrate my mother, Vivian Victoria – a talented and creative seamstress, and later an inspiring elementary school teacher.  When I try to conjure up my mother’s sweet face, the first thing that comes to mind is her bright red lipstick.  She always made sure she had her lipstick on when going out in public.  Those public red lips stand out to me and make me smile.  That is my mom, my mom who would end every conversation with me saying, “Be good to yourself.” 

Now, ten years after her death, I realize that my mother had not always good to herself.  She took everything in and kept it inside her.  She was a devoted sister, wife, mother, and friend.  Her youngest brother, Bart, had hemophilia at a time when the medical community did not fully understand the disease and why Bart was bleeding.  My mother told me that as the eldest sibling, she was in charge of baby Bart.  She would sleep with him and lay awake all night hoping she would not roll over him in her sleep.  As a child, that story stopped me in my tracks.  I couldn’t imagine being so young with such an important responsibility.  I was in awe of my mother taking on so much and never complaining.  My mother always tried to protect everyone in the family.  She ministered to sick friends and family. She’d stay calm in the midst of familial storms.  She was the steady hand and the safe harbor in the storms. Her loyalty knew no bounds.

It always amazed me how she kept in touch with her high school friends.  Through eighty years of friendship, they would meet once a month at McDonald’s for breakfast and laughter. When she died, I reached out to her friendship circle to tell them of her passing.  They invited me to their next get together.  I went and spent the morning in these five women’s warm embrace.  It’s only then that I understood why my mother kept up her relationship with them.  It was her way of being good to herself. They gave her solace, laughter, and understanding.

My mother lived for 91 years; she had a good long life filled with a mix of joys and disappointments. I know it was not easy to parent me, I know we had both joys and disappointments, and I know she tried her best to love and protect me. They say I look a lot like my Grandma Josephine, my mother’s mother. I never got to meet her. She died when she was only 46 years old. Looking at old photographs I can now see both these strong women in my own face, the dark eyes, the smile. I remember my mother’s advice – and try to be good to myself.