Mom

Se Manman m

This is my mom.

How wonderful to be able to say that.

For a week, my mom visited us in Port-au-Prince… her first visit to Haiti.

We welcomed her on Wednesday and she was able to meet Mr. Solomon for the very first time.

I think it was love at first site. Mutually.

I don’t know that there is any better, more comfortable feeling than to be in the presence of my mom. She just makes everything feel better, enhances even the most simple of moments. And now that I'm in my first fledgling month of motherhood, having her here--my role model for this art--was exactly and everything that I needed.

My mother is the flamboyant side of my parental unit. She is an artist by nature, a teacher by trade. She has taught English, French, Speech and Drama in a small rural Nebraska town for over 25 years. She taught my brother and I to see the beauty in our surroundings, to recognize the spiritual in all that exists, to explore the world beyond our immediate borders. She taught us the love of art and culture and the poetry of life. She loves her family with passion and exuberance. I pray that I will be the same fiercely loyal, committed, fun-loving, loving-without-condition-or-hesitation mother that she has been to me. I’m blessed beyond measure that she is around to give me pointers.

I have the kind of mom that people strive to be. I have the kind of mom that I hope emulate in my own efforts at raising children. She loves with a fiercely loyal, nurturing love. She puts her whole heart and soul into her family and makes you feel like most genius, most brilliant, most talented kid on the block. So having her here was truly an event to be celebrated.

In a week, we sat on the porch and talked about life, motherhood, family and life in Haiti. We hosted the Villiers for a dinner party, and learned about Haiti’s Easter traditions from Francois. We took rides through the cities so mom could be introduced to the mass of people, the rich and poor neighborhoods, the state of construction and deconstruction of the buildings. We had dinner at the Olofson—a historic French hotel and at the mom-and-pop restaurant down the street. We went to the beach and relaxed to the sound of waves on rock. We spent Easter in church, listening to the choir, swaying to the rhythm of the chanted songs, holding hands in prayer. She got to tour CONASPEH and greeted all the children lining up for school in French, “I’m Kim’s Mom!” she said! No one at the school could believe a woman as young looking as she could be my mom. “No, you are her SISTER!”

We joke that mom is “narcotic nana” due to the narcoleptic effect she has on her grandchildren when they nestle in her arms. She has the same calming, soothing effect on me as well. Life is less harsh, celebrations are more fun, the quality of days richer, the essence of conversation enhanced.

And today I put her on a plane back home. It is going to take a while before my heart stops aching.

Of course as I drove away from the airport, fresh tears in my eyes, I spotted a tap-tap with “My Mother” written across the side, and later a sign advertising something “nana.” Seriously world. Yes, I miss her. Stop rubbing it in.

But the thing is I’m reminded that she is everywhere. And now I have memories of her here. I have photos of her with my son. She has validated and made more real the space we live in by being IN it. And I thank her for that gift, the gift of presence.

She’s my mom, my ever-present mom no matter where she is… but it was nice having her in arms reach all to my self for a while.