Since nothing is ever complete, the poetry book I wrote about my mother, Diaspora of Things, seems like a light-sensitive print of where I was a few years ago. The relationship keeps evolving. The deeper I get into motherhood – all these years now! – the more I slide alongside her, intuiting her unsaid about joy, loss, “annoying aspects of inevitable change,” freedoms gained and realities of our limits. In strange morning dreams, so kitchen-sink and unsentimental, I’m waking up to the twists that adult children exert on mothers, and how much I got away with! Doris had a taste for the radical, and more patience than I give her credit for. To the complexity and mystery of motherhood, and the sister-soul that walks along with us on our journey!
Painting by Eve Dora O’Shea