She allowed ~ Jennifer

She allowed the warm light to embrace her
“She allowed the warm light to embrace her.” ~Jennifer

I got up around 6:00 the morning I took this photo. My body really wanted to sleep, but my soul needed some time alone outside to bask in the golden light of summer. I never used to be a morning person, but I now find the early hours of the day to be quite sacred. There’s nothing like being the only one awake in a quiet house as the first rays of sunshine find their way through the windows. Heading outdoors just as the dew starts to evaporate and the birds begin flitting about is a rare occasion that I treasure as well.

Although pregnancy is an amazing gift in and of itself, I don’t seem to enjoy the glory or glow of it that so many women describe. This summer has felt like more of a sojourn to a dark swamp than a bright and beautiful season. I hesitate to admit all of this because I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I know I’m lucky to be forty and healthy and pregnant. Extremely lucky. I also know that these hormone levels are overwhelming. I am a sensitive person, yes. In addition to that, impending childbirth seems to reconnect me to a very tender part of myself where the pain of losing my mother resides. Having my daughter in 2011 made me miss my mom even more. Expecting for the second time is proving to be a similar experience. The fourteen year anniversary of her death is just a couple weeks away. Labor Day, of all days. There is still a darkness caused by her loss, but there are also moments I happen to catch glimpses of my mom in my life. Sometimes they’re in the mirror; a quick glance as I brush the hair out of my face or grab the toothpaste from the cabinet. I see her in me: the exhausted mommy who just wants to do a good job. Other times, I recognize her in the face of my daughter, particularly the bow of her lips. I also sense her when I’m outside, surrounded by Queen Anne’s Lace. For some people it’s a weed, but for me it’s her wildflower namesake.  And even though my hair is dark, there are fleeting moments when the sun hits it just right so the strands burn with the same fire as my mom’s red hair. She’s not here in the flesh anymore, but I know her energy is still around, especially when I allow the warm light to embrace me.

16 Comments

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16 Responses to She allowed ~ Jennifer

  1. Nancy Q

    Jennifer, You are a beautiful person and I thank you for sharing a small piece of you.

  2. This view captures every detail and sentiment you describe. Her energy is right here with you, and she will always be near you through the good, the bad, the painful, and the joy. What a beautiful moment this is. You radiate love, and that sun illuminates it ten-fold. xo

    • Oh Bella, what you’ve written here is such a gift. Thank you for your reassuring and loving words. I’m speechless, truly. Thank you for being such a supportive and understanding soul.

  3. Your words have created a beautiful sense of presence for me. Now I feel as if I know your Mother, thru you.
    Her hair, the way her voice sounds and her scented perfume…I sense it all.
    Your photo is beautiful, but now more so, after reading your story.
    Enjoy all your moments, especially those quiet early ones!

  4. there is so much in this that calls to me.
    honest and real beauty.

    • Thank you for witnessing, dear M. I always feel a bit naked on the days I share my stories, but I know there are kindred spirits like you out there who understand.
      Xoxo.

  5. I, too, am not a morning person, but the past few years have me getting up to enjoy the golden hours before the rest of the world awakens as well. Could be hormonal (menopausal in my case) too! But as I age, I am finding that I am cherishing the pleasant moments more and letting the darker moment pass. They are a part of what made me; and I’m OK with that now! I relate with your feelings of loss at this time of year – my dad passed away too early one summer morning – but I feel him everywhere. The memories hurt for a long time, but now I feel comfort when I see glimpses of him.

    Your photo is beautiful – a wonderful reflection of your story. Thank you for sharing.

  6. Dear Connie,
    Thank you so much for sharing your story. You’re right, the darker moments are what made us who we are today, and they do pass. I wish you comfort in your memories and many golden hours to enjoy!
    Xoxo.

  7. I hope you print this picture large and frame it in your home as a testament to yourself and your mother. Every word you wrote, down to her energy being present, is captured in this amazing picture. Give yourself the gift of having it where you can see it often.

    • Dear Laurie,
      Your comment is the greatest compliment. Thank you so much for everything you said about my post. I’m truly touched by your words. I haven’t printed the photo yet, but maybe someday I will…
      Thank you again.
      Xoxo,
      J.

  8. Such sweetness in your words.

  9. Pingback: Wild about flowers | someplace serendipitous

  10. Dot Mc

    My mom had beautifully red hair, my memories of childhood are of standing at her shoulder and breathing in her fresh, slightly perfumed scent. Like the smell of a field of flowers. She would be sitting on the porch visiting with friends. Thanks for recalling those memories for me.

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