Mother You, Mother Me
In memory of Audyne H. Dyer “Granny” who was the essence of pure joy.
My mother is a poem
I’ll never be able to write,
though everything I write
is a poem to my mother.
I dedicate this collection of essays to our mothers: strong, vibrant women who birth tiny babes of all kinds whether it be ideas, humans or any other living thing, those who intricately weave beauty and unity from the rough, warriors who protect homes and teach the faith, nurses who serve their communities, save souls and lives, and care for the dying. May these pages be a tribute to those women who plant seeds, tend the soil, harvest and feed; and make bold those who are just setting out.
I also gift this to our children collectively, and especially to Cierra and Spencer who trained me up to know God’s faithfulness.
I am thankful for our spiritual parents and wise teachers, Abbas and Ammas who prayed into the future for us, blessed us, imagined a better world for us and our future generations, even in the midst of their own victories, missteps and messes. May Kingdom come.
Mama, I have always needed you as confidante, wise friend, nurse, counselor, muse. But now, more than ever, I enjoy you as companion. I want to share your laughter, your tears, and most of all your story. “I am luminous with age,” said Meridel Le Sueur. And so, we are.