Pedastal

Pedastal

There are certain people in your life that, for whatever reason, you place on a pedastal. The first of which tend to be your parents. They’re not human. They’re super human. With super powers. Infallible. Unable to do wrong or think or behave like a human being. My brother told me a line from a movie once that said “Mother is the word for God on the lips and hearts of every child.” That’s huge… Anytime anything would happen: good, bad, joyful, hurtful, confusing, crazy, interesting, mundane… the first word out of your mouth is “MOMMY!” or for some of us even, “DADDY!” And our world revolves around their approval. Their attention. Their validation. At the hair dresser the other day, the baby daughter of the woman doing my hair wanted her mother’s attention. She wanted it BADLY. All she really wanted to tell her was that the crumpled little piece of paper in her hand was an airplane… and see what Mommy would say about it. Of course, mommy was busy so she didn’t really pay her any mind. And the little girls just crumbled. She didn’t cry aloud for the world to see or to make a scene. She sobbed quietly because right there, her day was ruined. God bless the short attention span of a child. Because 2 minutes later, something else caught her attention and the fact that her mother had glossed her over was nothing to her at all.

It’s amazing. No matter what I did, my mom was a superhero to me. Didn’t matter what – no one was as smart, no one was as pretty, no one was as kind, no one was as wise, no one smelled better, no one cooked better, no one could take the pain away better, no one was a better pillow, no one wiped tears better, no one celebrated life better, no one’s smile was sweeter, no one’s laugh was so jovial, no one’s tears hurt more, no one’s hands were as soft, no one’s opinion meant more, no one worked harder, no one cared more that my Mommy. I placed her on the highest pedastal a little girl could find. The one on the shelf right below God. (Only because Mommy told me to). She was it. My idol. My role model. The embodiment of all things I ever wanted to be and would ever hope to become. As I write this… I still feel that little girl dancing inside of me… cheering for her Mommy. Because I do still think she’s the best. I don’t understand the woman that has replaced her. She looks like my mom and her voice sounds the same. But … she’s not that woman. I fear that time will morph me the same way with disease and age — and one day some little eyes that looked to me for everything will look at me like I’m crazy for the things I say and believe.

I’m sorry that her life really didn’t turn out the way she’d hoped. I was hoping to be the reprieve of that life. A second chance that she could live through me. But she won’t let me… She’s pushed me far enough away that, for the sake of the memory that I have on the pedastal… I’ll let her be.

Happy birthday, Mommy. I miss you.

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