Exploration of a Mother's Heart

There is a special and distinct place in a mother's heart. A compartment that grows when our daughters are placed in our arms for the very first time. I was given the opportunity to explore this place inside me. I have been blessed with experience. A discovery of stength that would not be known, if not for the path I walked. I am able to retrace every footstep in the sand. I find the salt of my tears sweet. My joy, immeasurable, just for the knowing of despair.

My Journey to Africa began five years ago when a deafening silence fell between my daughter and I. Words were spoken, yet resounded foreign and indecipherable. Each of us had our own code for pain. Lost to one another's interpretation. Scrambles of words, emotions, tears and frustration. Puzzles of pieces that didn't fit. A deepening pit into darkness that grew with each encounter. And we spiraled and fell without wings.

I don't remember the exact moment that I felt my daughter no longer loved me. And yet, memory allows me the way that it felt. I had believed from conception that biology held a cosmic connection. A life born inside my womb would continue to flourish in open air always in sight. A love that never reached farther than the length of a mother's arms.

The dance of estrangement between mother and child is mysterious and off beat. It is uncoordinated and disconnected. It threatens the nervous system and challenges perception. A mother stomping furiously and frantically to find solid ground realizes her fragility of power. The terrifying reality creeps in. Control beyond our own thoughts and actions does not exist. A paralyzing grip takes hold when you know that sight must become inward and not towards horizons. I fell to earth. My nightmares allowed me to hit the ground, when most wake up seconds before. I became the only person on the planet. Feelings of isolation, self doubt and guilt imprisoned me. I was terrified all the time. I lived for months of tomorrows without reaping the glory of moments. Bottom struck when I found myself face down on hands and knees searching for lies.

The truth finds its way to us whether we want to know it or not. We are given insight to our power for choice. The truth presents us with tremendous opportunity to rejoice in life's simplicity. Moments of grandeur come few and far between when the little things constantly surround us. There is glory in seeing the forest for the trees. It is empowering to capture the journey as a whole and not a specific moment. And therefore accepting that today is our reality. Tomorrow will never come in less than 24 hours.

The honesty of hope and fibers of strength burst from that compartment in my heart. With me or apart from me I knew my love for my daughter. She would always be born of my body and therefore carried with me each and every day. And I gracefully bowed to the process of distancing with love. For a mother it bears a semblance of giving up. Initially riddled with uncertaintly. And then, mercifully, it gives way to recognition. We are powerless to make choices for others. Even our own children.

On May 27th 2009 my five year journey to Africa became the end of this story. I boarded a plane, and another one, and another one. On May 29th I took a 4th and final flight straight into the arms of my child. A loving and most tearful embrace that consisted of old hurt, past doubts, the roar of silence, but mostly with joy of hope. On this vast and foreign continent we were women. We were powerful. We were together.