Mom in a Parisian cafe
Thursday, 18 March my beloved mother - Dorothy Elizabeth Tsenes - celebrated her 81st birthday (damn she looks good). We celebrated in our usual/unique way - I sent a ridiculously huge, fabulously beautiful, floral arrangement to the house (she lives with us) and we popped open a bottle of Ruinart de Blanc...
As we sat gossiping and drinking our champagne I thought - what a lucky little diva am I. My best girlfriend is my mom. She's always been my rock, my support, has loved me unconditionally and has welcomed me loving her. And she's effortlessly expanded her powerful love and formidable support to my husband and our children.
How do you think that I became a Diva? Mom, of course. In fact we call her the 'Original Diva' and I''ll explain why. My mother grew up (and lived most of her life) in a time and place where being a Black woman was a particularly challenging path to travel. But not only did she do it, she did it with grace, wit, style, and determination. She went places, did things, and lived a life that most thought a Black woman could not or should not - and she did it while working full-time, raising two daughters, and wearing 4" heels. Mom never called herself Diva, she just lived as one. Maybe I should define my definition of Diva.
A Diva is a woman who knows her worth and treats herself accordingly. She dreams big dreams and is ready, unafraid, willing and able to work as hard as it takes, for as long as it takes, to make those dreams come true. While She dreams big, she loves even bigger. She's unafraid of stepping into the unknown and has an insaitable desire to explore and experience. That is a Diva, that is my mother.
Dorothy, Rory and Temple - circa early 70s
(I'm on mom's lap)
As a child, my mom was my greatest mentor. As an adult, that has not changed. She instilled all of those Diva things in me - so how could I have not grown into a Diva too? Of course, mom and I are happily cultivating Sage's Divatude.
Mom, me and Coco in a Paris cafe
But on the heels of giving thanks for my mother, a verse from the amazing Bonnie Raitt song "Nick of Time" came to mind:
I see my folks they're getting on and I watch their bodies change.
I know they see the same in me and it makes us both feel strange.
No matter how you tell yourself, it's what we all go through.
Those lines are pretty hard to take when they're staring back at you.
Scared to run out of time.
All of a sudden the knowledge that my time with my mother grows shorter, as I get older, came crashing down on me. For my entire life my mother has been my constant companions. No matter how wonderful or tragic things got in our lives - we faced it togeteher, we pulled each other through. What will I do without her, how will I go on without her? I'm not forgetting my amazing husband and children. Because of them, I'll never be alone and I have a bright and wonderful future to look forward to. But this is not about them. This is about the unique and powerful mother/daughter love that my mother and I share. It's a wonderful thing and I don't ever want to live without it. Yeah, I'm greedy and am completely unapologetic about it ;)
I'm still struggling with my fears and feelings about this. But I refuse to let it distract me from enjoying to the fullest every single scintilla of every second we have remaining. Yes, that day is going to come but it's not here yet and will not be for a very long time. In the meantime, more champagne...
Me and Mom on a much need champagne break in Paris
Happy Birthday Mommy!
Vivre, de rire, de l'amour,