It was my second Mother’s Day; Kyle was nearly two years old, and we were out shopping as a family. We were in a small shop and Kyle noticed a small sculpture of a woman holding a baby.  The soft and sleek lines of the piece flowed so that all that was visible was the baby’s face being cradled in the essence of the mother’s arms as she looked lovingly down at it.  Mike and I watched as Kyle gently touched the baby’s face, then the mother’s, and stroked the lines of her hair that seemed to wrap them both in love and safety.  As Kyle continued his conversation with the baby in the sculpture, Mike paid for it.  It has been a focal point in every house we have had for the past three decades.

A few days ago, on the Vernal Equinox, I placed “Mother and Baby”* in the garden at the foot of Kyle’s and my favorite Cedar Tree.  Although the times of my holding Kyle in my arms have long since passed, the sculpture has gained in significance for me over the years.  Yes, it still remains a physical ode to Motherhood for me, but it also represents the passing-on of life’s lessons, the constant that is Love throughout great changes, and new growth coming from the old.  It represents constant renewal and rebirth, not only in the sense of one person birthing another, but of the rebirth that constantly takes place within each person.

* ”Mother and Baby” has been our name for the sculpture; I am sorry that the passage of time has erased the name of the sculptor from my memory.

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