I sat across from her, my good friend. We were at a blues concert in an old music hall. Her daughter — in the midwest — was perhaps in pre-term labor. Again. Her phone sat on the table between us. We alternatively watched the phone and listened to the concert just to be sure no notification went un-noticed.
Because that is what mothers do. Children never grow up. They never leave us, not even to produce children of their own. The vigil continues. For our children, for any child in within our consciousness. Even other mother’s children.
There were four mothers sitting at that table. Two of us nurses. I could feel the collective vibe. “Hold on Baby. You aren’t done cooking yet. Wait. Be Patient.” We listened to the blues and uttered that silent prayer in our minds between songs/chords/downbeats.
The concert finished up. No news is good news. I checked this morning. No news is good news. A quiet day. No news is good news.
“Grow Baby grow. Breathe Baby breathe. Nourish your lungs.”
More silent prayers sent out into the void. A constant flow of them — a mental internal streaming of love.
It has always been my belief The Universe listens most to Mothers. We have touched the miracle of creation, making life out of nothing at all. She has shared the deepest of magic with us in this space and time. We are disciples of the Goddess Shakti, anointed with a most sacred task. Grandmothers are double downed magic beings.
Surely if a child’s mother and grandmother — plus all the mothers and grandmothers who can be so moved to do so — would whisper —
“Hold on Baby Girl. You aren’t done cooking yet. Wait. Be Patient. Grow Baby grow. Breathe Baby breathe. Nourish your lungs.”
The whisper would become a chorus, would become a concert, would be a symphony of love. And we all know what power lies in love.
Love is where the Real Magic is. And nothing. Not one blessed thing is as powerful as the love of a mother for her child.
If you had a good mother, or you are a good mother, or you wanted a good mother — it doesn’t matter. Every human out there knows what I’m talking about, it’s programmed into our DNA, this Mother Magic. It’s why we feel its loss so bitterly and tragically when it’s absent from our lives.
Please whisper if you can for my friend’s daughter and grand daughter. Every minute, every hour, every day, every week she stays put and grows more is a precious gift.
Say it with me now, softly — Grow baby grow…