The moola’s are scarce this week.
So I said to Her “I’ll get you something nice for your birthday next week”
She says “You won’t. There’s no need for that carry on.”
“I know” I said, “I’ll write you a poem.”
“You won’t”, She said.
“Would you not like a poem written about you?”
“I wouldn’t.”

And this is how it goes with our Ma.
Try to return even one thousandth of a fraction of what She has given us and She will refuse it.
It’s because She has no clue of Her own magnitude.

There are those who bring great virtues to the world and are celebrated and raised high on stages of praise, as they should be….perhaps
And then,
There are those who quietly nurture “Ordinary People”,
Give us a Home in Their embrace,
A soft place to fall.
They are guardians to the Ordinariness of Life’s natural rhythms.

Though no trumpets hail our entrance, our presence nor our exit,
We are all the lungs through which Life chooses to make known its wonder.
I have almost unlearned everything I know and am nearly ready to step into the mystery of it all.
My existence is an agreement to both thrill in, and endure, it all and I think the only thing to do now is surrender to it.

But to have to do this without Her….would be unfathomable.
She bore me and bled to within inches of her life
She nourished me when I could not feed myself.
She bathed my tiny body, wrapped it warm, listened to make sure I was breathing in the dead of the night.
I cannot remember being a tiny baby but the enormity of the Love in my heart is evidence enough of how She held me close to Her and made sure I knew I was loved more than life and how I was safe,
Once I had Her.

And since,
Her unconditional presence persists.
She has never once abandoned any of her children despite the many challenges we have and continue to put in front of Her.
She has been right Here through the darkest of the dark.
Most especially on those times.
When the shit hits the fan in any of her care’s lives, she will most surely appear.
With her litre of milk and her sliced pan.

She is mother to all.
Her grandchildren are Her charge, to her its a given.
If you’re in the same house as Her, She will feed you.
Many have passed through her mothering hands.

She doesn’t seem to know about Her talents & gifts
(Yes Mammy you have talents & gifts)
Her intelligence, how she has a person’s character within moments of meeting it.
How she can do anything as well as any skilled tradesman once shown once.
Her funnyness, her one liners are priceless!
In her younger days, the physical strength and endurance of a man twice Her size.
Her creativity, give her a litre of paint or a hair scissors and watch what she can do with them.
Her physical beauty, just look at Her.
Her generosity,
Her honesty,
Her compassion,
Her selflessness,
Her loyalty,
Her patience
Her Love…….

I said I’d write you a poem Mammy
I know you didn’t want me to.
I know it is uncomfortable for you to hear about your own preciousness
But I’m doing it anyway.
Because it’s a perfect opportunity to say the things I don’t say when I’m too wrapped up in my stuff.
And the truth is, these words don’t even cut it.
Its not possible for me to capture Who You Are in words.
But at least you’ll get some idea.
Of the magnitude of You.
Thank you for your Perfect Self.

Annette Morris Keane August 2016

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