Motherhood, mothering, and being mothered
to my grandmother,
my first and forever true love.
The space you held was really the only space where I ever felt seen.
Your name tattooed to my arm,
Your spirit tattooed to my soul.
to my aunt,
who taught me that mothering can also be friendship.
You were one of my best friends.
I lost you the same month I became a mother.
I was in a deep deep fog, and to this day feel like I never said good-bye.
I frequently go to text you a picture of the boys,
or email you a story I have written,
only to be reminded that you are gone.
This life was meant to be shared with you.
then there is my mother,
Who gave us everything she had and even more.
Who lived for us in a way that I will never forget.
Who I lose bit by bit everyday.
Since the day I became a mother,
I realize I will not have my mother here the way both her and I imagined.
I realize what I dreamed for during this time will never be,
I realize I never got to know her the way I wanted to.
Living grief is not as claustrophobic as the grief of death.
It is slow and steady,
a deeper ache.
One that looms.
It’s more losing than lost.
Losing connection,
Losing time,
Losing conversations,
Somewhere between my lips
and her ears.
And then there are the two little ones
who made me a mother.
Whose lessons are continuously unfolding,
With whom I grow with and through,
As we journey.
It is all love,
The grief is the receipt of love,
The losing is the living through love,
The joy is the dancing in love.
the spoken word
I conceive these pieces with the beat of my heart,
then birth them with the fire of my voice.
i am ayla
born in the east, raised in the west
daughter of two academics, both artists
masters in human rights, committed to social justice
love affair with travel, art, and food
speaks four languages, laughs in all