“,,,my dear remains.”

The train has been full of life on this short spring day ride into town. Cries of babies, unusual at this commuting hour;  the lack of conductors and thus strings of people wandering in and out, up and down; busy students and all their gear;  a woman in front of me who is certainly having a Monday morning on Monday morning: her raspberry drink fell, spotting her leopard shoes and starting a viscous flow past my seat and beyond. Thank goodness for the extra paper towels I grabbed at the local breakfast stillpoint today.

This day also begins with a poetic moment from my email inbox which deserves metnion. The words above, penned by Ipswich poet Anne Bradstreet, are from a work no doubt chosen for ‘Poem-a-Day’ [i] with Mother’s Day in mind.  “Before the Birth of One of Her Children “ [ii] captures for us the risk and joy of motherhood. How would we compare the physical risks in the 1600s with the social, emotional , and worldly risks today?

Children are our best and “dearest” remains. Their very full lives draw out our breath and best hopes. We want a world to be a place where all children want to come home and, when they do, are always welcomed there. The loss of any one of them tears us apart and causes mourning far beyond the immediate circle of knowing.

I wonder if Mother’s Day is an appropriate moment to actually pray for the children of the mothers we seek to honor. Or perhaps the day after is the right one.

[1] http://www.poets.org/index.php. Accessed May 13 2013.

[1] http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/23508


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