Snowflake Fractals.

It's vexing, this storm. On the east coast you get very accustomed to snow and slush and ice. As the planet warms the snow days of my childhood seem more and more distant. Back before this was this....connection.... among us all, there was only the phone. The one attached by a cord to the wall. And we would wait for the call to come. School snow days didn't seem as prevalent then as they do now. We weren't scared of driving our children to school on a snowy day. Still, I have deep memories of days off spent on Steinhauer Hill with a trash can lid as my sled. The whole town was there it seemed. Father's and sons, Mothers at the bottom of the hill in huddles of womaness and nurture. Hands to their forehead they watched the children come down over and over. They had the supplies; coffee in thermoses, tissues, dry socks, band-aides. They huddle with other women and talked (probably about even more other women) . One time I borrowed a wooden sled to make my way down. Half way I hit a patch of rough rocks and ice and bounced off still speeding, just no sled underneath me. I tore the bump on each bone of my spine. I still have the scars, except they've shifted off my spine a bit as I grew. 

I didn't have a mother that huddled with the other mothers and gossiped. Ready to blow my nose, ready to feign interest as I yelled from the top "Ma!, Watch this! Are you watching?" My mother left on Mother's Day in 1976. You didn't leave your children as a mother. Not back then. She was a trail blazer. And I was left to go through school unkempt, unsure, unguided, unnoticed. My clothes did not fit particularly well. I can remember being teased about my pants being too short, about wearing the same clothes day after day. One day I made an effort and changed into a blue and white checked collared shirt paired with a blue matching blazer. The effect was enough to make the two teachers standing at the door stop to appreciate, "Did your mother pick this out for you?" I can still remember that question. "No," I replied proudly. "I picked it out myself . My mother doesn't live with us." It never occurred to me until much later in my life that the reason the memory wouldn't go away was because it was the first time I saw pity in someones face. Pity and a bit of disgust. I was a messy, unkempt, unruly, un-mothered, girl. Lepor. No ribbons, or creative braids. No cute shoes. No training bras with cut flower designs (as all the other girls had, in the locker room for gym I futzed around until everyone had left. I didn't want anyone to know I didn't have one)
Not having a mother around left me unsure and angry. I felt very isolated. Mothers do not leave behind lovable children. The math was not hard to do. I was not lovable. It was probably a self fulfilling prophecy. A catch-22, without the nuances a mother provides I lacked social graces and basic friend making skills. I would see my mother on weekends. She would cut our hair into the 'bowl' cut. Like a monk cut. To this day, I can't imagine why she would do that to a pretty little girl. I remember on day on 'field day' a girl from another class was asking the teacher quite within my hearing if I was a boy or a girl. When the teacher answered girl, the pretty little thing with long black hair asked why, if I was a girl, why was I dressed as a boy. I cried, terrible soggy, sopping tears. The aide came over and I told her what happened. She said, "Well you do look like a boy with that haircut." It stopped my tears. It stopped them for many years to come. That woman confirmed something I suspected. I was a child whose tears were not worth wiping off. 

My father was an active parent. He did not date, but instead focused all his energy on raising his 3 girls. He was a tall man, and serious. But he was not mean. He spanked me only one time and that was for hitting my sister. He felt so bad he apologized later that night saying, "You do not know how it hurts me to see you hurting your sister. Your sisters are all you have for your whole life. Family is all you have." He was crying. I was too. My father worked long days far away but did the best he could to fulfill the missing mom role. And I survived, I was loved. And I was raised by my two older sisters who grudgingly told me about shaving, and hygiene and hair braiding and monthly bleeding and all the ins and outs of growing into a young lady. I saw my mother on weekends always a treat. There were feminist projects to plan and attend (which meant company and sing alongs and crafts) and later there were different men that would be around for a while always attentive and loving to us girls. My mother didn't miss out on being a mother, but all the same-I missed out on having a mother. Two truths. 

So, as I look out at the snow and think of my mother a country away (she became an ex-pat years ago) and all of the things she has missed in my childrens life, in my life...It becomes hard not to be bitter and think, "Now what is wrong with me? You've left me again. Further away with even less mothering than you did before?" as a mother myself, I don't understand the concept of walking away from your children but I do understand that this is all she is able to give as a nurturer, as a mother.

So, as I watch the snow fall from outside my window, as I wiggle toes with the sleeping petite monster of mine as she lay next to me, I am reminded of a memory so powerful that I keep it with me always. A memory of being alone (I spent a lot of alone time as a child. I was unlikable as a person and the youngest) outside on the side of our house as the snow fell heavy and deep. There was no noise. No cars, sirens, children. No noise at all save for the sound of the snow falling. A shhhhhhhhhhhhhh knd of a sound. The sound that glitter would have if glitter was a sound. shshhshshhhhhhhhhhhhh. The streetlights are on and I see that amazing, beautiful curtain of snow fall, fall, fall. I lay down and I make a snow angel. I look up at that bright snow sky. The snow falls into my open eyes, covers my chest. My snow angel wings are filling up again. Still I lay and watch above me. I have never since felt as loved, as connected and as sure that in that huge snow lit sky up there? That I was far less important than I thought I was. This you see, was a relief. There is no great eye watching me, cringing when I mess it up. There was just this great universe and I was a part of it...no strings attached, save one: One day, I will leave and if I am lucky perhaps I can come back as a snowflake fractal and have it all figured out.  L
Life is given with no expectations that you will figure it out, ever. And people can love you so much....and still utterly fail you. Forgiveness is so the black mold doesn't grow on your soul. It's nothing to do with the crime or the committer. And sometimes fathers can make the best mothers...I learned all this with my cold wet back to the icy ground and my ears listening to the enchanting song of the snow falling. I realized that you cannot make people love you enough to fix you. You have to fix yourself and when you do, you won't need them in the same capacity anyway. 
I thought this essay was going to be about my best friend Kim but it had it's own agenda. 
Another snowy day I'll introduce you to Kim. Tonight I just want you to enjoy the deafening softness of snow. 

Sahn 1/24/2015