Dall Babies

The other night, I stopped to watch the Dall sheep on my way home from work. There are many ewes and lambs high on the mountains; they look like little white dots until you focus on them. But if you pause for a moment, you can see tiny fuzzy creatures jumping across the rocks. The sight of these babies playing grabs my heart – a Mom is a Mom -- and just for a moment, I fear for their safety.

I’ve learned that motherhood is always intense and these days it washes over me, cleansing, moving, at times nearly drowning me. My Mom is dying down a winding path, and I walk with her on these days, not because I can save her, but just because I can share the time, and shine love on that crooked tired smile. My intent is to comfort her, hold her, touch her, take this last opportunity to be the best daughter I can. I found a string of pearls when we packed up her house, and I’m wearing them every day this Mother’s Day month. I might even keep wearing them when the month is over so that I can think of her every time I look in the mirror.

At the same time, my daughter is asking me how I’d feel about being a grandma. I am a little excited, but each step she takes in her normal life, I have to work through my concerns that she will be exposed to new danger or heartache. It’s a silly thing, I know, but this mother-daughter thing burns with selfish intensity and I wouldn’t sacrifice her even for a grandchild. Of course, I can’t save her from the pain or life in general. It’s her life – not mine -- I’ve done my part. But I think my body was programmed to defend her the first time I looked down at her in my arms, and I will struggle to accept that she will take chances and move to new levels throughout her life.

I wonder if those Dall moms gasp when their baby leaps from a rock high on the mountain. There are likely multiple generations up there – great-grandmas, grandmas, moms and daughters. In a few months, the lambs will be grown and from a distance they’ll be impossible for me to tell apart from the adults. It seems like a ‘natural’ connection for them – and I guess it is for me and my family too. All these mothers and daughters strung together like pearls -- scattered across a mountainside, draped around my neck, and inseparable through time eternal.