The Mantle of Motherhood
By Sally Meyer
I am a woman who bears the name of Mother. I have worn the mantle of Motherhood for many years, wrapping myself in her warmth, enjoying the comfort and joy it brings.
This mantle or cloak, has been good to me over the years.When sorrow came, I was not prepared! She ripped off my cloak. . . tearing it into many pieces throwing them in my face.
I thought I knew the cloak of motherhood, thought that because I had been sheltered and protected for so many years, it would shield me from any storm. I was wrong.
My eighth child was a son, because I was forty two when I became pregnant, I thought something might go wrong, that the possibility of his having a disability was quite possible. But when they handed this wet bundle of arms and legs, and laid him beside me, I counted each little finger, kissed each toe. I rejoiced in his perfection, his beauty, his being.
I snuggled deep into the folds of my cloak of motherhood, enjoying the simple joy it brought me. I was whole. As he grew he became more beautiful, his curly hair framing an enchanting face. His laughter so merry, his delight my own. He found a piece of my heart not yet taken, latched on tight and claimed it for himself.
A cold wind blew into our lives. This child of ours began to withdraw, his smile fade, his laughter ceased. He retreated from the people who loved him best. After months of worry, sorrow and fear, a name was whispered in the stillness of a doctors office. A name for the monster who had stolen my child . . .Autism.
Picking up the torn pieces of my mantle, I stitched it together with sharp needles of pain and anguish, that caused my fingers to bleed. I wept over this child that no one knew, screamed his name in the night, whispered it at dawn.
Then shrouding myself in my weathered mantle, I went away for a while. departing into a journey of self pity and despair. In the darkness of night I wept, wiping my tears on my shredded cloak. I turned from the child who dwelled in his own private fortress. I, his mother was unable to scale the walls or find a key to set him free. I hid myself in the shadows of misery. . .I could not find him . . .I could not find myself.
One night I crept into his room, and gathering him into my arms I held him close, brushing back those damp curls that framed his face. As he slept, I sang to him, songs I had sung to my other children, melodies that I had yet to sing to him. As I continued my soft serenade I realized that he was still the beautiful little boy I once knew, I saw in his sleeping face an innocence that would not flee at dawns light. How peaceful is my son who has no care. He smiles at rainbows I can never see. He dances to a tune too sweet for me to hear. He knows no yesterday, nor does he look to tomorrow, he savors each moment as they come. He knows no hate, no guilt, no sorrow. I envy him.
His face shines with the glow of the innocent, his eyes sparkle with the joy of the carefree. How peaceful is my son who has no cares, how blessed because in him we share.
In the peaceful solitude of night, I gently opened my tattered mantle of motherhood, drawing him close to me, and wrapping us both in a new cloak. A blanket of my own making, and together we waited for the sun to rise.... to bring whatever it may.
And no matter what life sends us, we will face it together, for I am a woman, who bears the name of Mother.
copyright. 1999. Sally Meyer
Please contact the author for permission to use these poems.