How I Met My Mother

I have gotten to know her growing up, but I remain blind to many things.

I have spent quite a bit of time in Boston this weekend talking about my gender violence work and how I feel personally connected to it. Whether it was friends, colleagues, or loved ones, I was compelled by knowing of these women’s lives to shed light on broader gender dynamics that cause shock but not action resulting from violence against women. I would like to share an “aha” moment which caused me to step back and deal with a reality I had neglected.

She Waits

She stands in front of St. Matthew’s Cathedral,
Black clothes standing in contrast to her bright red lipstick.

I wonder, what is she thinking about? She seems tormented. During the day, she paces back and forth, as if she were a guardian of that holy space. Something or someone brought her here one day. And the day after, and the one after that. Did she lose someone dear, did she come to a crossroads in her life at this very place? Maybe someone long ago told her to wait for them, and wait she does.

Weekday or weekend, rain or shine, she is as constant at the fresco adorning the cathedral’s interior. I’ve often thought of walking up to her, asking about her life, her regular presence here and what she waits for. I’ve realized, though, that this is her journey, her search, and I can only pass by her soul’s struggle each day and wish her the best.