Category Archives: mothers

Happy Birthday Mom!!


Today is my Mother’s 85th birthday. She was 25 when she had me, her oldest daughter (second of seven children). Now her life is wrapping up. After a series of many small strokes or “episodes,” she has significant cognitive loss according to testing. (Not Alzheimer’s.) She was a registered nurse for many years (maybe 50?). But now she cannot recall many words that used to be easy for her and she more often loses her train of thought, which frustrates her.

Yet every Monday we have these amazing conversations, talking of our week, our lives, our memories. I try to be calming and newsy: what’s going on with the kids, my husband, or my writing. We try not to talk too much about the medical. I may describe a squirrel swishing his tail on the tree in front of me. And we both remember that my Dad loved to watch the antics of squirrels in our backyard. I am grateful she knows who I am and remembers what is going on with our family. We both consciously treasure these conversations, this time we still have. This is the most recent poem for her.

9/12/11  Monday

An Ordinary Conversation

My mother wanted to remember
and I want to remember

this particular conversation
which started out about disarray

of a problematic week and
took a journey to calm consideration

of life as it plays out.
And if her voice is rough, throat dry

and if memory slips in and out
well, so what? Here we are still

talking of past and mostly present
telling stories that mean something

lending support, encouragement
eye to eye, heart to heart.

What could be better than that?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

On Being a Mother and a Daughter

Expressing the essence of being a mother, a line often comes to mind from my poem, “After You Left” in Letting Go and New Beginnings  (For entire poem see post 37 on 3-29-11 )

“Constantly
I am watching out for you.
Even when I am not watching,
I am watching.”

“Even when I am not watching, I am watching…” Even when I need my own life, I gather my “chicks” now grown, under my wing. I can’t help it. Even if I struggle for balance and need to take better care of myself, if they need me, I want to be there for them.

What is the most important thing we want to teach our children? How do we free them to go out and live their lives fully? How do we transition to a more adult level relationship with our offspring, the foundation for the rest of our lives? How clearly can our children ever see us as real people?

Here is another poem about being a mother.

1/19/03

Upon Returning Home

From birth
letting go

and letting go,
letting go.

If I have taught you anything
let it be this:

kindness.
Striving, yes

but be generous.
I let you go

and heal from the wound
and then you return

as promised
and gradually I adjust

and trust.
Then you leave

as I know you must
and I am filled with longing and sadness.

Letting go,
letting go

the greatest gift,
not to hold and define and smother,

but to see you writ large
by your own hand.

And I am always
your mother,

not a strange mythological creature
who tames dragons and rides unicorns,

but a woman
of flesh and bone.

Not frozen artistic perfection,
a marble statue unchanging, beautiful,

but a work in progress,
the same as you.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2003

From  Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey

As I wrote before, my mother-in-law, Rae, died in March. It felt very strange this first Mother’s Day without her. I kept thinking to remind my husband to call. It looked like my Mom might also be wrapping up her life, but she is strong in so many ways and she rallied. On Mondays after my voice lesson I call her. We both consciously treasure our wide-ranging conversations—for however long we have. (I sent her tulips.)  Two recent poems about her.

2/14/11

Valentine’s Day Conversation with Mom

Even close to the end,
eyesight failing,
words dropping out of her repertoire,
she looked to the west

over the building tops
from her apartment balcony
appreciating, savoring,
thoroughly enjoying a magnificent sunset,

full of vivid description
of the flaming band of clouds
that spanned the horizon,
filled with the grace of it, the joy.

And even a day later
would see it still in her mind’s eye
and tell her poet daughter
400 miles away, who could then
see it also…and enjoy…and write….

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

2/17/11

Mom

At some point
often a phone call in the night
and someone you love
is gone. Right now

all I’m saying
is the beginning of the end.
And if I cling to the notion,
the belief, that life is eternal,

still I am aware
it ends in this form
and there will be…soon…
one last hug, one last conversation.

As much as I try
not to think about it,
to be in the moment
where you still are,

still I cry softly
when I consider
you not being here.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

Unexpected Fierce Mother

Amazed, I looked out into my wooded yard today. At first I thought some crows were attacking a large rabbit. But it was the other way around. She (I assume is was a she) was chasing after two huge crows like a mini-sheep dog. Ah! A tiny bunny running scared along the brick of the back of the house. Cowering in the mulch at the corner of the step. Stay there! I urged from inside, but he kept on running along the edge of the house and out of sight. Fearless and tireless, the momma kept after those crows whenever they dove down with their black wings widespread. She stopped to rest only when the threatening birds were far up in the trees or flew into the field behind us. I was called away by someone at the door, so I don’t know what happened in the end. But I was rooting for the rabbits. Even though they eat our garden, they are such a delight to see, especially the magic of the babies.

The apparently fierce mother reminded me of this poem:

1/17/04

The Fierceness of Loving

Now you are gone
the silence has a presence of its own.

I have longed to get back
to my other life,

the one that continues when you leave;
my gift to you, this letting go.

I missed you the moment you left
and allowed myself that time to grieve

and keen and then as therapy
I began to clean,

partly restoring order,
partly to focus on something concrete

and unrelated, partly meditation,
fulfilling my dream of good intention.

I missed you before you left
and struggled against

the thoughts that brought tears,
for after all you were still here.

And now
to resume a life disrupted,

not to pick up the same threads exactly—
for the river of life continued to flow

carrying me to new harbors,
opening fresh possibilities.

Thank you for coming back to us,
what joy to watch you grow!

How much I have learned
about the fierceness of loving.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2004

From my new book, Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey
and my CD, Full Blooming: Selections from a Poetic Journal