I went searching for a picture to post on Mother’s Day, and ended up with too many.
It’s impossible, it seems, to capture in one frame what my mother is. I know her without second thought, but sometimes I feel like there is no end to every feeling or memory wrapped up in who she is.
All the unspoken patient moments and the sacrifices I’ll never understand.
The times she listened to my adolescent weeping.
When she’d send me outside to play.
The no’s along with the yes’s.
Her days sweating under a June sun in the garden.
Her face softening as she holds a newborn.
The little ways she laughs or asks about things in detail.
And how my Dad adores her.
She’s a skort and tank. A stern mouth and laugh lines. Fabric and hammer. Wisdom and eye roll.
She’s lemon flavoured with coconut whipped cream, and this year, I’m more thankful for her than ever.