March 20th is the first day of Spring, and, my mother’s birthday.  This day always fills my heart with a bit of joy and celebration.

Spring brings a promise of a new start; the sun shines each day, peeking out between the clouds and dancing with Spring rains to offer up rainbows.  Trees bloom, and bees buzz about the blossoms, ensuring nuts and fruit and honey.  Throughout nature, babies* are born in this time of promised plenty.

Each year Spring delivers a message of hope and love.  No matter what the winter has thrown at us: floods, icy roads, blinding snow storms or wave breaking winds, Spring always comes, reassuring us that it will get better.  Snow may still be packing the mountains or the Jersey Shore but somehow the longer days of Spring whisper, “This will pass, I am here.” 

If you are still snowed in and expecting more precipitation, as my mother once told me about my complexion, “Things often get worse before they get better, but they do get better.”  Spring is here, listen to her whisper, “This will pass.”

Throughout my life, I recall my mother always quietly there. She was a woman of few words.  She would celebrate my childhood triumphs with a little smile and reassure me after failures of skinned knees or hurt feelings with a kiss and a smile.  She quietly supported me through the growing pains of my teens and young adulthood.  When I married and had children, she was steadfastly there, for teething, varicella, costume making or weekend escapes.  She was quietly there to rock a child, fix a meal, sew into the night or babysit.  (She once kept three children when I went to Hawaii and did not mention in our daily calls that my youngest had the chickenpox, not a word.)  Then there was my divorce.  She was there, quiet, empathetic, offering no judgement or critique.

In my mother’s last few years, she was less able bodied.  As I chased my career, my relationship, and my desire to care for her, she was still there for me, quietly appreciative and reassuring.  As with all things, this time did pass, and she died 3 days before Spring in 2013.

The unconditional love of a mother, be her name, Grace, Beatrice, Gaea or Terra, is a powerful gift.  How perfectly serendipitous that my mother was born on March 20th.  She, like Springtime, was always there to reassure, whatever my winter, she was there. No words were needed but the message was clear, “This will pass, I am here.”

Isabella

*The point where I resisted digressing into: Have you seen my newest card?  Oh, baby it’s the perfect card for an expectant mama.  Please check it out, click  Shop our Cards