Laying in a dark room with lightning flashing through the windows, I think of how quickly the week has gone. The summer storm is now spitting rain onto the roof. This isn’t my house, but it feels like home.
It feels like home because mom is right down the hall. It feels like home because for once, I am not the most worrisome person contained in four walls. I can lay here and dream. I can lay here and just listen to the rain. I can lay here. It’s the most invigorating feeling, to know that I am old enough to not need my mother, but never too old to not want her.
I have often been envious of my friends and sister who all have daughters. I always envisioned the mother-daughter relationship I would one day share with my own. It seems now that God has other plans for me. I guess that makes the relationship I have with my mom even more meaningful. I will always remember the day I showed her my first (and only) tattoo. She cried, and they weren’t happy tears. I will hold fondly to the memory of my mom and dad walking me down the aisle. I will cling to the sadness in her voice the day I called and told her my loving dog had died. Then there is that comforting feeling I had with her by my side both times I gave birth. These are all emotions that give me peace. They make me whole.
Tonight, I am in my mother’s house. Tomorrow, I will go home. I will resume command of my own home and my own territory. But, through the sounds of the beading rain tonight, I will enjoy knowing that I am once again safe under my mother’s cloak.