Mother Knows Best

November 19, 2012

A form-fitted intricately blue patterned billowy dress embraced Solante as she hollered “Oi?” from the low lit windy verandah. She came bearing a look I knew well. Expressions of a similar loss. Her powerful determined and know-it-all eighteen year old son was making his way swiftly to danger and destruction in the great city of Sao Paulo with a trusted neighbor. Marco (their names all resemble the other, only need to replace one or two letters and I cannot keep them all straight) resists boring, stifling and dash your hopes Registro, yearning for the fascination and thrill of the promise of easy cash. Solante can’t help herself as she tumbles into Alice’s hole to the hand-ringing place of terror and drug-induced thieves, illicit men and opportunistic enticing so-called friends. Holding both hands in front of her face, she draws in the hideous news stories flashing before her eyes from the television screen. Faces that resemble Marco, the shape of his shoulders and strong stable legs startle her. “Those must be my baby’s alluring shoes that thief threatened off him!” The girl, woman, old man, string of out-of-focus faces are him, she simply knows it in her weakened breast and distressed heart.

We talk of being mothers. We have the slimmest of chances to set a prevailing example before the children (for they will always be thus) are off and running in the opposite direction from where you are insistently pointing. We do the very best we know how with what miniscule information we have. Marcela, the only girl in the sizable family lives with Solante’s sister in a nearby town. The eldest boy, Marcelo (I told you!) stays with his grandmother in another state. It must be exceedingly yet painfully heroic to make that stab at your heart decision to allow someone else to raise your children, in spite of the fact that they are relations or can provide sufficient food and safe shelter you cannot.

He will make mistakes without a doubt. You can only pray that he has the courage to recognize choices that are in his best interest, I urge her to consider. Laughingly remind myself, as I share, that I continue to make numerous gruesome mistakes and yet live to tell the bloodthirsty tale. I held a rough weathered weary hand and kissed her innumerous wrinkled cheek and off to church she went after spending time in the fields going to the only other salvation Solante accepted-Mother Earth.  

I reflect on Taelor and her exuberant adventures at Hamline University in St. Paul. Wonder when she too will face that trek to the big city/international travels/partnership/children/peril and ruin! Considering her mother…who knows what will inspire her to take her further from me. I can’t wait!