Coffee, mothers and daughters
THE SCENT of coffee so faint in the air, wafting in through the window from somewhere. In my mind I can still see the bright red garden furniture my parents used to have, the corner of the garden where they used to be placed, next to the red-current bush and the flowers in their sloping bed , all shielded from view by a hedge.
At that time the energies of that corner was soothing and calm most of the time. No matter how hard at times, it was still life as we once knew it. The short summer months made us appreciate and the balmy evenings even more. Is the place I remember from whenever still there? It is on the map, google says so, but energetically? Probably not. On my last visit the whole community felt dead or dying.
Now I’d like a garden you can sit in without being eaten alive… Without having to shout to be heard over the traffic and out of sight of the world and his wife.
As usual I always want what I didn’t or cannot have, be it an impossible equation or just not an option. Or the price too high to pay, but then, isn’t a few highs better than a straight line? A slow heart-beat rather than flat-lining in an emotional sense.
I always imagined that at some point, always in the future, I’d visit and we’d sit in the garden, somewhere in a garden, and have our coffees and be friends at last. Isn’t that what most daughters want with their mothers? No such luck.
I suppose I’m old enough now to technically have a grown daughter, of my heart if not my blood, but I still occasionally wish for someone to fill that role for me too.
I also wish that some day we’d got on, one day she’d accept me for who I am and not just see me as the black sheep, the replacement baby for the son they lost, the daughter she never ”got”. We cannot make people understand us, and this may be especially true for the first wave indigo adults as we really did not naturally fit the norms of what was expected of us. We broke every rule by just existing. We didn’t so much ask for understanding, just for acceptance. Love. To be heard and listened to. Guess that was in short supply. After all, it’s kind of difficult to give what you haven’t got. And even when we do, it does not necessarily live up to expectations, did it mother?
Thing is, it does not even have to be a mother. Just an older woman of companionable nature. I don’t spend much time lamenting over missing out on the whole mother-daughter thing anymore, but I think to some degree we all long for that wise & unconditional acceptance we all hope to get from someone.
So I hanker after an illusive past that I never got to have, how very constructive a way to live your life – not.
So I have instant coffee with myself (and a notepad and my favorite pen) at the kitchen table with the red bistro table cloth from France, but it just isn’t the same.
-That’s why you have cats – and dogs – little bundles of love wrapped up in lovely fur! I’m caught by surprise by this timely comment from Miaowser, who yawns before going back to sleep on the chair next to mine. Indeed Miao-Cat, indeed.
Catpaw on July 4th, 2012.