Who We Are By What We Do

PART 50

Tara, my youngest brother's wife, served some excellent pizza with a green salad and a wonderful warm salad dressing. The pizza was cut into squares. It oozed with flavors, none of whom fought for dominance or preference. They just simply were one flavor from another atop a pizza slightly cooler than the warm salad dressing. I realized last night during the enjoyment of sitting with Michael’s family that each of Mommy’s children reverted easily back to the way we presented ourselves to Mommy as babies, and toddlers.

David would be a presence saying, “This is my Mother.” Eric would dote. He caresses Mommy’s face with his hands saying, “Mommy, you know this is your son, Eric, who loves his Mother soooo much.” and peer deeply into her eyes. Michael quietly adores Mommy in posture and light touch. He kneels and lays in her lap comforted and comforting. Cynthia was a cute and pretty charm of a daughter. She needed to glow with expectation. “Mommy look at me. I did this!” It was her simple way to receive and give and enjoy and reflect to her Mother what she needed, and how she loved, and needed to be loved in return.

I was breast-fed and the first-born. Comfort for me was deep. When it comes to me from others, and leaves me for others it runs deep. With Mommy I rest my spirit, and I rest my hands upon her, or gently touch our cheeks together, and say in a soft, very soft and quiet voice, “Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi, Gregory.”

Or Mommy will emit a deep moan, or if my head nestles in the crock of her neck she moves her head to connect.

How we love is our life. - Gregory E. Woods (March 30, 2013)

[This was painful to write and remember because ten days later Mommy died in her sleep with her first born present (me).]