My Mother
photograph by Jonathan Larson
Janice Orr is a spiritual companion with a great capacity for deep listening. In this blog, she shares a poem that helped her listen to her mother in a new way. Janice says, “Ruth, my older sister, wrote a letter for my 75th birthday book which included her memory of our mother bringing me home, putting me in the bassinet, and telling her that my name was Janice. Somehow that little story (which I'd never heard before) captured my imagination and I wondered for the first time what my mother's emotional experience was at the time of my birth. She was separated from family and friends, and living in a summer cottage as my father was at an air force base. The result of my pondering became this poem.”
Cultus Lake, BC,
A wicker-furnished cottage.
My mother is tall and slender,
and carries her burden well.
She will be 28 years old in two weeks.
Her 4-year-old is her only company
on this hot Friday in July 1945.
First contraction – and then a second.
Carefully-made plans transition into action.
Neighbours become family:
One receives the 4-year-old,
Another lends her a phone
to call for the ride
12 miles of dusty winding road away.
Anxious waiting, pacing, breathing.
A sense of isolation, unwelcome aloneness.
She wants her mother,
identified for 10 years by a granite head stone in Beebe, Quebec.
She wants her husband,
an airman,
working a two-week rotation
stationed at Canadian Forces Base, Boundary Bay, BC
She wants her grandma
who loves her across the gap of miles from Sutton, Quebec.
At last, a cloud of dust announces the arrival of the grey Ford.
Contractions. Hills. The Vedder Bridge.
Her driver pulls over and picks up a hitchhiking soldier. Now? Really?!
Stronger contractions.
Finally, the two-storey hospital.
A welcome sight,
as is the smile of her doctor,
a familiar and trusted face offering the release of safety.
Baby arrives with a healthy robust wail,
leaving only one more important task for this mother to complete today:
A first precious announcement using the pen and paper provided,
“Grandma, it’s a girl. I’ll write again tomorrow.”
We’re left to wonder:
Did she long for visitors to admire her baby?
Was she anxious for the safety of her 4-year-old?
Did she worry about getting a ride home for her and baby?
Did she long for the moment the proud father would first hold this new baby?
Our mothers lived their quietly heroic lives
in the context of their times.
They did what was required,
emotions neatly buried beneath the surface,
rarely recognized,
rarely revealed.
We, their children, didn’t request exposure of those deeper places,
as they would have been challenging to unwrap and express.
And so, they remain forever a mystery.
But this one thing we know:
Through the span of time
women have been tenacious and resilient,
a necessity,
then and now.
Janice Orr
spends an inordinate amount of time pondering the questions, "Who are you, God?" and "Who am I?" Meanwhile, her sacred story is being inspired by radical compassion and courage - that of others as well as her own. She is learning the fine art of letting go and welcoming the sacredness of liminal space. Janice completed Pacific Jubilee Soul Guiding in 2010 and Soul Mentoring in 2018.
