Elder Mother

We found her around dusk, slowly rocking on the porch swing of a house half fallen down, her memories dancing far away from her as her legs gently moved her out of habit. When she finally returned from thought and noticed our noise nearby, her eyes were clear and calm, a rarity to find.

“We are friends” spoke Peter softly, with the quiet voice of trusted healer that had so often calmed a fearful stray. Her lips curled in a warm smile, though she would not tell us her name. She did say that her husband, children and children’s children did not survive, only she. And that she believed she was completely alone, here only to wait her turn for death’s arrival, but then we had arrived instead.

She stood with relieved purpose at the sight of us all, dusted her hands on a comfortingly patterned apron, and walked through her front door as she turned to say “You are so very welcome here. And you all must be quite hungry.” Shortly after, we shared our first ‘family meal’.

She, to this day, has never spoken her name to us, or not in any way we can decipher. But we no longer ask, for it would matter now, and because her wishes are to be someone new.

“My life before is over. All that I built around me has come down, and if it is my God’s will, then I shall rebuild it again. But this time on new ground, with new stone and new mortar, and for new purpose. My life and my name are no more, for with my family I died, but when you came to my door that day I was reborn. I saw that my purpose was not over, even if the only life I had ever known was over, it had simply changed. Now, I wish to be everyone’s mother, to do what I can for all of you who saved me, and for the children, for the new world they will build, with whatever time we each have left.”

And so we have come to call her “Elder Mother”, mother and grandmother to us all. When a child needs comfort, to Elder Mother does he turn for the arms of safety and love he so craves. When an adult needs an ear, a shoulder or a sweet word of hope, to Elder Mother does one turn. Disputes in our group are mediated and resolved with objectivity and kind fairness, if Elder Mother is asked.

And she, like a true mother, demands that at least once per week the whole community we have gathered all sit to eat together at one time - our ‘family meals’. Elder Mother is our glue, holding us together in so many different ways.

Many evenings, Elder Mother tells stories. ” To help the children always remember who we were, and to help them see who we are capable of becoming.” In her stories, she never reveals which are her own stories and which are simply those she saw around her. But her stories weave us into a tapestry of dreams and hope and pride in our ancestry. She reminds not only the children of who we are capable of becoming, of how vital love like hers is in this new world. I aspire to one day hold within me the unconditional love and wisdom with words that she carries for us all.

Lost but no longer alone.

There is no way of knowing how many of us remain, wandering. But as JRR Tolkien once said, "not all who wander are lost".

Sometimes I wonder if our previous lives weren't in some way a preparation for all of this. Struggles making each strong enough in one way or another, to keep us alive when so many others have died. Some would call it "luck", but our little group over time has shown an exaggerated variety of unexpected but crucial abilities, experiences, skills and strategies that, without, we'd never have made it so far.

Is it our genetically coded instinct to survive that reminds each of us just how much a mind really can retain and blend into creatively cunning ways to fix whatever is thrown at us? Our desire to win a challenge, to prove life wrong in its assertion that death be imminent?

We find ourselves relearning what resilient creatures we humans can be when properly motivated. We are unafraid, though often unwilling at first, to fight; but fight we will when survival is threatened.

That's more than likely part of why we have become the adopted family to so many children. In our travels, we find them - alone, barely fed, dirty, cold and afraid. But so many come to us with their tales of parental heroics in the face of insurmountable odds. Tales of sacrifice, barters with the world for the life of their young in return for their own.

We all seem to share that human value that puts our children's lives above all else, especially in these times. I am proud (yet saddened of course), but always deeply and soulfully indebted to those who have come before us and passed into the unknown after this life, to hear their stories of a child saved in the direst of moments by the love of a mother or father or both. To hear of another human, holding onto a faith in the rest of their human race, that this sacrifice would not be in vain. Holding onto a hope that these children, so dearly loved, might be found, saved yet again by the next who is able, to live and to love, and maybe even laugh again one day.

And to carry the lesson of love and survival to the next generation to come. That we shall stand, and we shall sing, and we shall wander, lost for now, but no longer alone.