Jodi Hills

So this is who I am – a writer that paints, a painter that writes…

Tag Archives: mothers day


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C’est la fête de ma mère

I didn’t understand it, even then. Older teenagers on the bus, they used to have a response when asked a simple question — “Well, if you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.” My brain scrunched up behind my furrowed brow. But isn’t that actually the only time you would need to tell me, I thought. 

This being said, it’s ironic that so many years later, there’s still a little part of my brain that can slip into that very behavior. I know I’m not alone, expecting that everyone would know my every feeling at every moment. It’s embarrassing to even type it. It’s a lesson to keep learning — this sharing of feelings, even when you think they should be so obvious.

They don’t know it’s Mother’s Day. In their defense, it isn’t, not yet here in France, not until the 26th. But my American heart, missing my American mother, knows that it is. It celebrates and hurts at the same time. So I tell you now — It’s my mother’s day! — C’est la fête de ma mère! And doesn’t she deserve two – at least!

Traces of salt slip into my smile. She would have never let me get away with saying something so silly as “If you don’t know…” — not then, and certainly not now. So today I will wear my heart on one sleeve and my mother’s on the other — proudly! You can join me — and once again in two week’s time. (Most likely, even tomorrow.) Happy Mother’s Day!


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Lofted.

.

Pauline joined us our sophomore year in college. She was the only “single” on this floor of double rooms, which already made her special. But then she lofted her bed, along with my impression of her.

With her bed raised high, there was room for two chairs. Room for conversation. Not lying on your bed conversation, like teenagers, but seated, postured conversations. It felt so grown-up, sitting in chairs, face to face. She even had a plant. She wasn’t waiting for life to begin. And I wanted to join her.

We talked about poems and books. Boys and mothers. Dances and classmates. We talked about the future like it had already begun. We talked about dreams in the same way. We sat in that space when my grandpa died. She helped me cry. We sat in that space when she broke up with her longtime boyfriend. (I suppose everything seems long term at 19.) I helped her cry. I suppose once you’ve seen someone cry, the laughter comes so easily. (Both states of vulnerability.) And oh how we laughed! I can still see her back teeth!

In the spring, she unscrewed the posts holding up her bed. Put the plant in the back seat of her car. And she was gone. She transferred to a new school. Maybe it was only a handful of months, but Pauline taught me about friendship. About the perfection of the time that is given. Nothing wasted.

I mention it now, because it seems so present. I know it’s Sunday, but it feels like a Friday afternoon. A Friday, sitting in Pauline’s room, waiting for my ride to come and take me home. Wearing my pink sweater vest and white pants. “You look nice,” she said. I smiled. “You dressed up to see your mom.” I shook my head yes.

Today, this Sunday, this mother’s day, this mother’s day that feels like a Friday afternoon — a Friday afternoon when I’m still almost a girl, wanting to please my mother. Wanting to tell her about my school, my week, my friend — because nothing felt as real as when I told her. I sit under the comfort of lofted memories. I laugh. And I cry. I sit in the perfection of the time that was given. Knowing nothing was wasted. Not time. Not emotion. Knowing I had such a friend. I had such a mother!

Life begins and begins. I’m not waiting.


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My Cowboy Sam on the shelf

In first grade we were allowed to start checking out books at the Washington Elementary school library.  This was our first right of passage. To be trusted with something as precious as a book, to be trusted to love that book, read it from cover to cover, take in all those words, and then return it to the library for others to embrace, this was magical, a lesson in love I will never forget.  Because it was love, to be trusted like this with such an important gift.


I could feel it from the start. These were important decisions. I couldn’t just grab anything off the shelf. I needed make the right decision. It was just so important. My heart weighed heavy each Tuesday evening, because Wednesday was library day. Would I pick the right book? Would there be time to choose? My mother gave me the best advice. She told me to find a series that I really liked and then continue with that series each week. I could go to the section with confidence, no fear, and choose a book I loved.

My first series was Cowboy Sam. Cowboy Sam had so many adventures, and I lived and loved each one. Each week I went to the same section and checked out the next book. For twenty weeks or so, I was at ease. By the time I finished the series, I had gained so much confidence that I was able to move to another section. Try new books. Live out new adventures.


This is what my mother gave me. Right from the start. Confidence. Even in the most difficult of times, she was my strength, my assurance, my Cowboy Sam on the shelf. No fear that she would ever disappoint, or ever leave. She was only love.  


With this confidence, I was able to go out into the world. Trust in people. Trust in love. There is no greater gift. 
She is my mother. On this day of celebration, and every day. I count on it.  

Happy Mother’s Day!