Of Mothers and Mathematics

I woke today thinking of mothers and mathematics.  Of the rippling effects of even the smallest pebble tossed against the otherwise calm surface of water.  Mathematically, I imagine that each ripple is half the height of the one that preceded it, and yet I can spy even the least of these, bubbling atop the surface, eventually loosing the sand at the shore, where its effects finally come to rest.

I woke thinking of my childhood neighbor, whose daughter's husband died of cancer yesterday.  I think of this mother, trying to stand firm at that first ring of ripples, washed over in grief as the pebble of disease makes its presence known.  I woke, thinking of my friend whose son died last April, a beautiful, sparkling young man whose stone of sadness shattered his mother's world.  And yet, she will awaken today, her tired feet finding the cold floor beneath them.

Wherever those pebbles and stones are tossed, there you will find the mothers of the world, awash in the aching effects of the first ripple's ring.

Growing up, while I knew that my mom loved me, that she was there for me, I seldom thought of how my own pebbles and stones affected her.  It probably wasn't until my oldest brother Mike--just days before the first anniversary of my dad's death--told us that he had AIDS that I began to realize the strength that it takes to be a mother of the world.  We would make our way to New York 15 months later to bury my brother.  And yet, my mom found a way to keep her feet on the ground, even as the crushing weight of this tsunami washed over her.

Men may think they run the world, but mothers know the truth.  Most men cannot bear the effects of that first ripple's rings.  That is the real reason we send them out each day to busy their hands and minds, while women guard the home front against the next assault of pebbles and stones that fall from the sky.