Art Heals

Abigail Thomas is a writer you could just listen to for hours and hours. I had the privilege of getting to hear her read from her work Saturday evening at Omega. She goes right to the heart of things, ruthlessly revealing her own vulnerability, mistakes, joy and regret.

One of the pieces she read was about the night her daughter was hospitalized and in great danger of losing a pregnancy. In it, she described a moment of inertia, when she asks her son-in-law over the phone, "Should I come?"

He tells her yes. Adamantly.

Because he said yes, she was able to mobilize and go, and to be the mother she had always wanted to be. The mother who was there for her child and knew what to do when she needed her.

I'm the kind of mother who wouldn't need to ask. I'd like to see you try and stop me from coming, but Abigail made space in my heart for other kinds of mothers. Those like mine, who perhaps aren't indifferent, but don't know what to do. Those who question if they are wanted in the lives of their children. Those who are still unsure even after their kids are grown and having babies of their own.

My mother was not invited to help me get ready on my wedding day. She was not there for my miscarriage. She was not at the births of my children. She did not come when Todd had his emergency appendectomy and I was alone hauling two small kids to the hospital. She meekly asked if she should come, but I felt if she had to ask, she really didn't want to.

After being let down so many times by my parents, I don't ask for anything. I'm a fucking island.

But Abby (can I call you Abby? I feel so close after such an intimate evening)cracked open a little space in my heart around all this Saturday night when she read her piece.

Sometimes moms just don't know what to do. What a concept.

Imagine.