A Twin 20 Years Apart
I have my mothers face. Sure. Many people echo this statement but I HAVE MY MOTHERS FACE. It's as if this woman popped herself out on a cold windy day in January. An inconvenience for the Dr. with the Super Bowl kick-off to start in less than 15 minutes. The pressure. I imagine my mother pushing with ferocity, sweat beating down her petite face. Legs sprawled open about to punt a little ball of her own into the world. By accident she did not receive an epidural; a prologue to a good ole fashioned birth. She reminds me of this at least twice a year. As of recent I started wishing her a happy "labor day" on my birthday in recognition. That 19 year old brilliant woman pushed and out I came. A healthy baby with my mothers face.
There was never a time that people did not remind me of how much we looked alike. My mother's colleagues, friends, strangers, and distant cousins would yell; "oooooooooh your daughter looks JUST LIKE YOU." They would look back and forth. Laugh and make the same joke that she had no help in my conception. My mother would roll her eyes and twist her lips to the side. What person gets accustomed to seeing their face walk around, crying, making a mess, and being a terrible 2? Yes. I do look my mother. With two exceptions. She has freckles across her cheeks. I have the darkest brown eyes. Yet those differences aren't enough to capture a strangers attention. What the Gods/Goddess thought when they repeated Charlene's face I have no idea. And I am lucky. I will always have something to remember her. Something special that belongs to me only. My heart swells with an emotion that overwhelms my soul. My first love. A mother's love.
My mother led my way to love like a prophet. My education with love began with her. Her love is warm, open, and determined. She's demonstrated this version of love to me over and over. Charlene, my mother, tells me of the time when she was recruited to join the CIA . When they informed her of the requirement to put me up for adoption she declined. My mother declined to attend UCLA and many other opportunities of a lifetime. Yet, she didn't put her dreams on hold. She modified them to make sure they fit a world that we could both live in. She taught me love is compromise.
She's always had the ability to make beautiful traditions with less. From our Friday movies nights. Thanksgiving she would make us a soft pallet on the floor and we would eat popcorn and watch The Wizard of Oz. First of December, a Motown's Christmas played in the background. We drank hot chocolate with tons of marshmallows and decorated the tree. She taught me love was an intention.
She showed me love was magical. I would walk into my pink Spice Girls bedroom and there on my bed were coloring books, novels, and chocolates. She encouraged my imagination. It wasn't even valentines day! It was just because. We would color together. Her favorite books filled with angel's. I learned how to outline the pictures with the dark colors and fill in with a lighter color of the same hued family. That was magical. I experienced wonder in those moments. Joy filled and lighter than dust particles. She taught me love was creativity.
When I won 2nd place in my art class she hung it up because she loved what I created. Love needed no trophy to exist in our home or her heart. Because love recognized effort. It existed because we existed. My mother demonstrated her love through patience, curiosity, and responsibility. The harder lessons rooted in sit down conversations. There I learned love is knowledge. She always made sure we had transparency into her decisions. Her why. Even if we disagreed; her practice of love taught me trust. She taught me love was consideration.
Her love set a deep sisters foundation for me. I saw the power of a woman's love and believed women had a deep capacity to love. I felt safe and secure with women because of my mother. To this day my ability to be in constant community and communion with women extends from my mothers love. An outside love that radiated inwards. Something that was being given to me. She taught me love was community.
This woman who gave me her face also gave me a heart of full love. Her very own to be exact.
