My Mother Who Never Backs Down

Many mothers are not my mother.

Many mothers are ordinary, not my mother. My mother is extraordinary.

My mother is the culmination of the many mothers before her – the energetic apex of generations of striving and toiling: of pushing babies from their bellies for days with pain and fear of death – crying out so hard that only the brave could stay and witness it; of working as a musician in a man’s world, the stench of nightclub cigarettes and booze clinging to her like a vice grip; of stealing her baby from the clutches of controlling in-laws and escaping across the country to avoid being caught for want of a better life; of waiting for a son who would never return and hiding sadness and loss behind a cool veneer and a beautiful manicure. My mother is generations of Spanish, German, Irish, and English mothers, carrying burdens that were never meant to be there’s but doing so with perseverance and determination; with the knowledge that life was about more than who they were. They never backed down – never assumed the journey would be simple.

But my mother is more than just a product of her powerful lineage. My mother is her own brand of strength and softness all wrapped together in one. She is love and generosity, tenderness and conviction, faith and blessings, and quiet determination. My mother is also a take-no-bullshit, never-back-down breed of woman. My mother stood firm in the face of a wave that would have carried her toward a cookie-cutter life in the suburbs. She pushed the edge and uprooted everything she knew in the city to move to the country and farm the land. With no experience she learned to castrate calves, butcher chickens, nurture baby rabbits, pheasants, kittens, and pigs. She bottle-fed orphaned calves and drove stray bulls back to the corral when they broke through the fence and stood staring at her through the kitchen window. She taught herself to sew, to draw, to paint, to bake breads and pies, to can and preserve, to grow the most incredible garden you’ve ever seen. No money? No problem. My mother did all of this and then put herself through school and took a job she honestly didn’t want, just to be sure that we could make ends meet. She never backed down – never asked for what she couldn’t provide herself.

My mother is a musician, an artist, and a creator. She created us and then she let us go. She created light and color on canvas and then let these go too. She finds shades and shadows where others can’t see them. Hues and shapes and stories captured in time and not forgotten. She patiently breathes life to a blank landscape, the same way she carefully breathed life into us. And she’s never far from her creations. My mother has rescued us every time we needed her. She puts her life aside to take up our banner when we can’t carry it alone. She answers the phone when she doesn’t want to, she cleans vomit from plastic buckets and rubs our fevered chests when we can’t breathe. She packed up her son when he couldn’t do it himself and stood beside me when I sent my favorite steer to the slaughterhouse and just couldn’t see how to move forward. A deep breath, a straightening of her shoulders. She patiently and unwaveringly pulled hundreds of tiny wood splinters out of my arm when I fell from the barn, and cleaned rocks from my face when I fainted on the playground. Others would have relegated these tasks to urgent care, but not my mom. She stood firm and knew that we would feel better with our mother by our side. She held her dying dog in her hands to help her go – and she held her dying mother in her arms to help her go too. She never backs down – never lets someone else do the job she was called to do.

My mother is a believer. Her faith in her God and her Country perhaps greater than her faith in even herself. She sees the meaning and the depth in things we can’t understand. She carries on her shoulders the lessons she was taught, the values and beliefs that have kept her rooted. She is a stalwart, a lighthouse, a connection between our history and our future. She is steady, sturdy, and strong. No wave will fall her, no wind will carry her away. She is brave and unflinching. She is considered and thoughtful, yet dreamy and whimsical. The perfect paradox in a long skirt, a light blouse, and gorgeous flowing hair. She never backs down – never stops wanting the world to be as beautiful as she imagines.

My mother is extraordinary.

Long Shadows

by Nathelle Norfleet