APOOO TRIBUTE: SOFTEN MY SOUL

A Place Of Our Own (APOOO) National Book Club featured my all the mothers whose babies didn't make it. They are still mothers. A special thanx to Yasmin of APOOO for posting this story, although it didn't quite fit the mold. I really appreciate your support and encouragement - more than you will ever know!

Tribute: Soften My Soul

To me, the miracle of motherhood is not just the delivery. It is not limited to the overwhelming rush of magnificence that a baby was created within you, or granted to you. No, the miracle of motherhood, of parenthood, is the change of heart that occurs when you learn and accept that you are fertile ground. When your soul softens, first accepting, then anticipating a tiny new life.

Why is that a miracle? Because there is a unique transformation that occurs, that prepares for life to change inexplicably. I know friends who swore they hated children, until that tiny seed was deposited in them. And something pure sprouted from the knowledge of being with child, from the revelation, from the onslaught of thankfulness at the thought of becoming a mommy. They became some of the most genuine caring women I know. Even I was tied to my career, ambivalent about sacrificing my freedom and money making potential, until I was told that my baby was dead. And in that infinitesimal moment, everything changed. My essence cried out for her, my soul wept and my spirit prayed for this child I had never seen, heard, touched or felt. And that is when I became a mother.

The story below, and this tribute, is for the mothers who lost their babies before they made it through. For those women who gleefully accepted the call and opened up their innermost depths of love, but for whatever reason the child was lost before, during or soon after childbirth. They are still mothers. A mother weeps and mourns and suffers a tremendous loss, even if the child was lost in utero. She is still a mommy. She still very much loved and very much lost. She remembers her baby every single day. And, while the ending of my story was rare, I felt that agonizing loss for a short time and I will never forget.

So this tribute is for the mommies that were not able to carry to term, or who encountered death soon after the wonder of life. May God bless and keep you.

CLICK HERE to read the rest of this intimate and poignant tribute.

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Aisha K. Moore, Esq., pseudonym a.Kai, is a published poet and novelist who enjoys writing inspirational, fantasy, sci fi (speculative fiction), commercial and adult fiction. Her Discover Kai Poetry Collection is an intimate monthly log of experiences, emotions and reflection that consists of six published collections, including Cherished Beginnings, Intimate Musings, Internal Indulgences and Peaceful Resolution. She is a contributing poet to Step Up to the Mic: A Poetic Explosion (Poetic Press). Her poetry has been recognized in a number of magazines, book clubs and literary circles and is posted on a number of websites and blogs.

Her inspirational short story, Second Chance, has been published in True: Vol. 2 and her short story, The Marks, was published by The Writers Cafe Press in the anthology Light at the Edge of Darkness. A third short story, Mikkis Anniversary, is included in the anthology If It Aint One Thing, Its Another. She is a guest reviewer for RAWSISTAZ Book Club.

A wife and mother of five, Aisha graduated from Georgetown University Law Center and is licensed to practice in both Washington D.C. and Maryland. She is employed by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) where she works in employment discrimination matters. For more information, visit her at www.discoverkai.com, www.discoverkai.blogspot.com or www.myspace.com/discoverkai.

Pathetic

Wait a minute!! This is unreal and sooooo funny, yet sooooo disrespectful. I kinda don't know how I feel about it. Did you see the clip of LeBron James telling his mama to sit her ass down? Oh no - well here it is:



Now, a good boy NEVER cusses at his mother. But what was she thinking? Has the good life made her yearn for days of whipping ass and acting a fool? Jumping all into the mix with a bunch of 6 footers? Apparently, Kevin Garnett recognized her immediately, he tried to shield her with his body. Imagine if he hadn't, if he had knocked her to the ground in the fight. Lawd Have Mercy, it woulda been ghetto night for real then!! Lebron would have Had to try to kill him.

Now listen, as a sports mom who, in the early years, cussed out a few detractors, I get it. I know what its like to be in the heat of the game and see or hear someone attacking your son. Before you know it you could fly off the handle. But she is no longer in little league. We are talking Lebron. I think that huge black man can handle his own. And we have seen overprotective moms unintentionally undermining their "babies" credibility when they jumped into the mix. One example: Vince Carter. OK another example: A.I. and really, A.I. moms wraps it all up, with the nice heavy mink in the middle of the summer over her jersey...wheww, she used to wear me out wondering what theatrics she was going to pull next.

But back to the point. Does LeBron get to tell his mama to "sit her ass down." And said it with no hesitation. Is the paycheck allconsuming, all empowering, that she actually went and sat her ass down?

I'm rambling I know - but this, I think, is the point. Mama shoulda stayed out of it. That is without question. The NBA shoulda have given a long - let these men be men - speech to her after watching other mama's turn their NBA sons into jokes.

HOWEVER, once emotion took over, and she did enter the fray, LeBron should never be in a mind frame to cuss at his mother and get away with it. He didn't seem shocked at all, as if he had slipped in the heat of the battle. Meaning, she was well within her rights to hit him upside the head at that point. But she didn't. Instead she meekly backed away. And he returned to the game, seemingly unperturbed that he had just disrespected his mother in an unfathomable way. AND THEN - GET THIS - HE WALKED OVER AND APOLOGIZED TO PAUL PIERCE. What about his mother? mannnnn please!

So, both were wrong, but LeBron was dead ass wrong. I am sure mama will be getting a nice new car or a piece of jewelry to make it all good. And since he obviously is running that household, she will take her gift as a sincere apology, instead of realizing how telling and pathetic the entire scenario actually is....

My Baby Boy

It seems that time has passed me by, or I wasn't paying attention as it swooped around me. Somehow the little boy that I love is a full grown man. Tell you the truth, I didn't see it happen. Its amazing how your eyes focus on what your mind tells it, even when he hit six feet and I was looking up to talk to him, I still saw my little boy!! It wasn't until he said to me, "Mom, you aren't as big as I thought you were," with a little smirk that I realized he had outgrown me. Of course I invoked the "I'll get on a chair if I have to knock you out" theory with a laugh, cuz size and height have nothing to do with mama rule!!

So, he graduates the first week of June. He graduates. Lord Have Mercy, my baby boy is graduating from highschool. And we are planning a cookout the night of graduation, followed with a day of minimal rest (because his friends are hosting cookouts that we are expected to attend) and then he is off to the beach for a few days. After the beach, we pack him up and off to college he goes. Since he is on a football scholarship, they want him to report for the first session of summer school in June. And just like that, he'll be gone...

Now, I know he's not actually gone. As long as I earn a measly dollar, he will have a reason to call **smile**. But, unlike most college students, the athletic scholarships give the schools authority to dip into life, its all about preparing for the next game and keeping those academics up. At Ohio U (where he is going next year) it was one of only 2 schools in the MAC Division to have a high rate of graduation among their athletes. They are not playing around. So that means, he doesn't return home for long blocks of time between semesters and during weeks of vacation. We get a day or two, where he will probably also want to tap into his old friends as well, before he is back to school. Either way, life as we know it will change.

I am excited for him. I don't feel sadness. Yet. After we drop him off, when I return and try to tuck in a new daily schedule without him here, that's when my heart will ache. But I am determined to enjoy it as a good ache, and not become sad, because me child has been blessed. From teen parents to college football player and no illegal indiscretions in between, who could ask for more?

So, this Mother's Day I will reflect on him and my other children. Its amazing how they have grown, how smart my older daughter is (she is reading and understanding Chronicles of Narnia and she is 6), how creative and artistic my middle daughter is (she can play piano by memory and tap out the notes to any tune she has hear 1 time) and the continuous chaotic whirlwind that are my twins. If I focus forward, I can feel the sun, I can appreciate God's warmth. I know that he has touched my life and expanded my horizons. I am sincerely thankful.

As is always the case when blessed change is near, pressure mounts, my husband and I argue, money tightens up, all sorts of things to distract from what I should be focused on. But God has allowed me another phase of peace, not as tranquil as when I gave birth to the twins, but a lighter level, one that keeps me alert but unfazed by the distraction. What will be, will be. In the meantime, we are going to celebrate this gradation, cook and eat, dance and drink (nonalcoholic of course - well, for the most part) praise and party and allow ourselves to completely inhale this space and time.

Happy Mother's Day !

I can't remember the age I was, when I began sleeping with the knife under my pillow. But I felt so old, so tired and so alone. Early teens I think. Life had proven itself to be one long tunnel of pain, of rejection, of disappointment. I was so depressed, but didn't realize it. I had to survive. And I was convince my mother was going to snap, one night, in her fits of manic depressed rage, and kill me. And who would know? Who would care? She would play the victim and I would be dead. So, after another cussing, staring, evil eyeing and late night door kicking and attacking, i tucked the pillow under my knife.

The first one was small. It had to be one she didn't notice, or she would surely beat my ass for having it. I knew I couldn't use it, wouldn't use it. BUt at least I could finally get to slepp, my hand tightly gripping its handle. Gainin security from that tiny knife.

Years later, I upgrade that knife. THis was after the physical fights, the thick tension, the confusion. I wasn't scared anymore. I didn't care what happened to me anymore. I wanted ot leave, to espace, but didn't know if I would be able to. So I put a real knife under my pillow after that. My silent dare for her to keep hitting me, assaulting me, terrifying me. But, as God would have it, she simply stopped coming in the middle of the night.

These are the Mother's Days images I have. And I feel guilty and lost, becuase who thinks about this during mother's day. For others its flowers and lover, affirmation and comfort. Their mother. And my memory its lopsided, its what I recall. There were days and weeks of peace, well, not peace, but a silent resolved tension. Without being cussed out and frowned upon. Normal days when I would socialize and entertain and enjoy myself. Separate from her. Because that's what I did to stay sane, I stayed away as much as I could.

But , of course, its unfair. Because she was a mother. She sacrificed for me. She loved me, as best she could. We didn't have much and she didn't give me much, but she didn't put me out, didn't let the world devour me. She was suffering the Prozac roller coaster, so she did the best she could do. And I know that. Or, at least, I need to believe it, to believe there was a reason other than mental illness that would make a person could be so cold to her own child.

But as we approach mother's day, I find my memoirs of the good times obliterated by the sheer terror of a moment, horrified by the shouts and slams, the threats and verbal hate. She would tease me, taunt me, anything to get me to respond, to justify attacking me. Ain't that a mother?

She is different now. At least, I am different and don't have to be subjected to it anymore. But Mother's Day. Mother's Day always leads me to this space of loneliness, of isolation, of longing for a mother who thought me lovable.

Remembering peace

My mind wondered temporarily at church today. Not that the preaching wasn't good, just something that she said made me remember when I had peace. Its interesting, often times people speak about peace likes its a temporary emotion, such as "please, can I have some peace." But that's not what I'm talking aobut. I'm talking about when the noise and crashes of life literally fade away and, despite all the chaos around you , you are literally in an unimpenetrably (word?) calm space. Without the aid of Prozac or Percocet.

I slipped into it once. Or, I should say, God granted me access to it once. It certainly wasn't an all access pass, I haven't been able to find that unique pocket in years. But while I carried my twins, the noise of life just ceased to exist. The snow behind the channel of each day, that is bills and anxiety and health concerns and parental struggles, just didn't faze me. I understood their importance, but found myself eager to see sunshine, thankful for each drop of water, grateful for health, lovingly appreciative of life.

And when the twins were born, it continued. It had been the first time I carried a son in my womb, and they definitely give you a different energy than lil girls. By oldest daughter had my emotions all over the place. But, after their birth, as I sat in the back yard wathing them play and listening to the wind (really - and no I wasn't high) I realized that THIS is what peace is. Its not a short intermission, it is a soothing space, a quiet calm, an envelope of cushion. And, it was necessary for me to refocus, have faith and press forward.

Slowly I eased out of the pocket, not on purpose, but I failed to work diligently to stay in that space. But having experienced it changed me. Inexplicably. I can wait now, with patience. I know God will bring change. I can hope now, without panic, I know that it will work out and it will be for good. I can pray now, without urgency, without a reason, simply to be in His presence. I can shed tears now, without shame, because my tears represent a thankfulness at a glimpse of a higher understadning that I was not entitled to, but God allowed me to experience.

SO, as First Lady Trina was preaching today (and she tour it up, put her foot in it, and tour it up some mo) I found myself remembering peace and realizing what a rare encounter it was.