Speaking words of wisdom

When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me. Speaking words of wisdom, let it be. And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

My mother's name was Mary. Whenever I heard this song as a kid I presumed everybody knew my mom was a great listener and giver of advice. As I grew up I realized that Paul was singing about a more widely known woman named Mary.

The mother I spawned from passed away in June of 1981. Just when I was in dire need of matronly advice, she was gone due to the ravages of cancer. I was a confused teen on the cusp of finally being permitted to date. Sixteen was the age at which girls in our family were allowed to have a boyfriend. All I'd had were crazy crushes that were never realized due to the restrictions placed upon me. Still, having my mother tell me how to handle myself or get over the painful heartache of nonreciprocating crushes would have been fantastic.

Because mom had always shared her tales of paranormal belief, I lived in fear of such unearthly visits from loved ones. The idea of being face to filmy face with someone did not appeal to me. So, I remember telling my mom during one of our rare conversations during her illness that I'd prefer she not haunt me -- lovingly or not. Once she passed away I regretted making that declaration.

After years of living in denial that mom was indeed gone forever, it became abundantly clear that I was a 20-something in dire need of her mother. As calendar pages flew by and became a decade, I truly wanted my mother's guidance. My sisters, father and step-mom tried to fill Mary Caroline's shoes. However, at no fault of their own, their attempts fell just short.

Call it what you want, my subconscious longing or paranormal visitations, she came to me in a dream. For the first time a dozen years, my mother sat on the bed I shared with my then husband and she told me as her hand brushed the hair from my face, "You can go now." This time was unlike any other as any such visions always took place in the past or at the home where I grew up. At that moment I awoke disappointed that the vision of her was gone. But suddenly the inner turmoil I had been feeling about my marriage was gone. Mancub's father and I had talked for years about leaving Kankakee and starting new in another state. It would test the resolve of our marriage and his theory that we were strained because of the involvement of my family. That was 1997. We moved to Georgia and divorced in 1999. Looking back, I believe my mother's message about 'going' really meant that I could leave my marriage and find happiness on my own with Mancub.

My nocturnal pow-wows with mom have been few and far between since that night in 1997. My visions, for lack of a better term, have been merely seeing her in passing. No comforting talks on my bedside occurred. From time to time I'll dream about a moment in my childhood that involved Mom, but no heart to hearts take place.

That is until recently. I haven't talked a lot about my personal life much lately on this blog. I've touched on it, but nothing in depth. My career is not up for grabs as blog folly. Such shenanigans can lead to job loss. Interpersonal relationships have proven to be perfect blog fodder when the object of my affections doesn't read the posts or happens to be such a flippin' dirt bag that he's no longer welcome. At which point I don't care. I always change names to protect the stupid.

With all of that being said, I've bottled up a lot. My role at work has changed so I am not at liberty to just spout off. There's a path that must be followed in order to bring resolution. And my personal life is so complicated that you'd think I was a pathological liar or testing out a theme for a romantic comedy screen play or cheesy Lifetime movie.

Because I have so much pent up, it was clear the other night that I desperately needed comfort that only a mother can give her child. In the room where I currently sleep, Mama Mary sat at my bedside and calmed me.  No longer was I tossing and turning and frantically out of control. Still sleeping, she sat next to me and sang while she brushed my hair from my face.  I tried to speak, but words didn't come.  She quieted my nerves and calmed my soul.  I felt myself awakening and I fought it. More time with my mom was needed but early morning broke and I was back in my bed alone with nothing but darkness surrounding me. My eyes scanned the room in search of a spark of light or a twinkle. Anything to indicate it wasn't just a dream.

What I know from this is that in my times of trouble my mother Mary comes to me ...