I wrote this a few weeks ago, when Hanah was deeply into her “attachment-to-Mommy” phase….

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Hanah is almost 8 months old now. And she really wants her Mommy. If her Mommy is in another room and you try to hold Hanah, forget it. She wants her Mommy—no substitute will do.

Today her Mommy is at work and Hanah is fussy with us (her grandparents).

Especially around 5:00 p.m.

She wants her Mommy.

I was holding her in my arms tonight for her 3rdnap, from four to five, and thinking of telling her, “Hanah, I’m 64, but right now I really want my Mommy too.”

I was in a car accident thirteen days ago.  I have a broken sternum (from the air bag) and a fractured self-confidence.  I feel shaken, afraid of the future.  I will drive again—this time—but I know that a time will come when I will give up driving.  Like Hanah, I’m staring into an unknown uncertainty and I feel insecure and I miss my Mom a lot.   

I miss that ultra-calm, reassuring voice.  I miss that constant undertone of unconditional love, in whatever she’s saying. I miss having someone listen to everything I say and then tell me that everything is going to be all right.  I miss resting in that belovedness, like a great calm wave washing over me. I miss walking into her room and seeing her there in her recliner and seeing her face light up with a smile and feeling anchored, safe, secure.

But I’m 64 years old, not 8 months.  So, I rock Hanah and I soothe her in that ultra-calm, reassuring voice. I tell her how much she is loved, and that her Mommy is going to be home soon now, and everything is going to be all right.

Truly, everything is going to be all right.

George Bernard Shaw said about life that is no “brief candle”, but rather “a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations”.

I’m thinking that mother-love is like that.  I can no longer call my Mom or talk to her, but I was blessed to get a big, flaming torch of unconditional love from her while she was still with us, which I did my best to pass on to my daughters.  And now my daughter Elizabeth is shining brightly as a mother; this little baby I hold in my arms knows in her bones that she is loved, loved, loved.

What better legacy could any mother leave than that?