by G E Barr

Created on: January 27, 2009

THE ROAD TO MY DOOR

There is a road to my door. It has been trampled by angels, devils, incompetence and indifference. The tracks seemingly innumerable. The road to my door strewn with the litter of the hateful, the angry, the veangeful, the stupid.

But when my children step onto that road, it turns to gold and it straightens that the journey may not be long. The red carpet is rolled out. Down home opens up.

The only way that I know of any "treasure" on this earth is met with openness. No one else matters. My babies have come home. Those who once camped in my womb come back. They are blood of my blood. Bone of my bone. One has a voice like I do. Another, my laugh. Another, the soft, blonde hair. Still another, the determination. All love art, science...

This one, they know will always love them. This one won't forget them. This one, has been proven.

This one, they've put on trial. Working me over. Tossing me aside. Trampling me. Working through the anger, the resentment.

Hands on hips, they are tough in their forms of justice. For mother was not perfect. Not even close. She must be treaded out, straightened out, ironed out. Kicked out. Grossed out. They are human. The passages of psychological purification, if you will, must take place. Their mistakes must be made. They must learn and contemplate and draw conclusions. They fall down, they get back up. Sometimes, I get the bill.

There is a road to my door. A high road, that only my children can know of. A golden door which defies age, time and space, circumstance, past hurts...

My children can travel that road anytime, there to find me. Waiting. Being the technologically advanced people that they are, they can travel it by phone, computer or car. Should they ride a horse in, that's okay too. The road is never closed.

When they visit and reminisce of something they did in the past, which frightens me, I laugh along with them. Inside, thinking, Whew....

I'm not their judge. I was just their ship into this big harbor. Their protector, teacher...

Trust is impossible without forgiveness, because human beings make mistakes. To not forgive means there's no room in the heart to forget and love fully. How can a child learn to love him or her self without being fully loved by mom?

Not to say that there are not some instances for a mother that would make forgiveness too difficult to manage. I've just not encountered that yet and I hope I never do.

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