A year ago was the first Mother’s Day after my mom’s death. It coincided with so much busyness having to do with all the tasks required to close on her house, prepare for her memorial gathering, and make final plans for our family trip to one of her favorite places to spread some of her ashes. All of that layered with the grief of navigating the baby steps of beginning to adjust to her absence...I honestly don’t know how I got through.
It was more than a lot.
One thing that did help was that we had a mama duck who happened to nest in one of our many empty flower pots that I hadn’t yet gotten around to planting. She arrived and settled in during the last week of April, her unexpected presence a gift full of wonder, something that made my own grief more bearable as it became an outlet to channel my own maternal energy into.
Given mama duck’s presence throughout the season of all things mom — including our first Mother’s Day without her physically with us — it felt like a sign that my mom was present, that we had a mama of a different sort who nestled into our lives, actively mothering her brood, and still receptive of a little mothering from us, as well.
As it was, the chicks hatched and left the nest with mama duck the very day we closed on my mom’s house, which was the day before her memorial, which was then another day before we left on our trip to honor her. What a whirlwind!
It felt perfectly — if not divinely — timed.
This year just for fun, in mid-March while winter and spring were still negotiating, I put out an empty flower pot. A bigger one this time, something a little more spacious and presumably more comfortable. It was a full month earlier than lovey duck (as I had come to call her) came to us last year, but the sun was feeling stronger, days were marginally warmer, and ducks were becoming more plentiful around our neighborhood, so I thought I’d take the chance.
Just in case… 🙏🙏🙏
To our delight, within two days there were eggs…
and mama duck had reclaimed her space. ✨
We knew it was her because of that familiar stare. 😂
Balancing the thrill of her arrival was the grounding I felt in how much more I knew this time around.
While she was “out” I would gather grasses and leaves, tucking them around the pot where she could reach in case she wanted to pull anything in as she created her nest. I put water nearby, as I had last year, in case she might fancy a drink in her off hours. I kept an eye on things every time I noticed she was away and took an egg count to keep track, knowing it was typical for her to lay about a dozen. And when I saw her staying on the nest for the bulk of each day, I knew incubating had commenced and that we could expect the little ones to hatch in about 28 days.
I even marked the calendar with their due date! ❤️
As the days wore on, while in the yard with Ritter multiple times per day or walking through as I was gardening and doing chores, I talked to her in a calm soothing voice so as not to surprise her. I sat with her as I read my book outside in the evenings keeping a companionable silence.
We guarded her space as we could, trusting her to let any of us know if we got too close for her liking. She was good at the side-eye to ward us off, which we greatly respected, but otherwise never ruffled a feather or made a sound. She seemed content; as were we.
I like to think by choosing to return she knew what she was getting into with us in terms of activity level and commotion, especially between Ritter and his best bud next door roaming around sniffing, wrestling, and playing ball. I like to think she trusted us to partner with her and keep her safe to every degree we were able.
And I especially like to think that in its own way, it’s a sign from my mom once again, this time aligning more with Mother’s Day rather than later in the month like we needed last year to correspond with all else “mom” that we had going on.
Of course the ducklings hatched and departed this past Saturday, right on schedule.
Both for their protection and admittedly for our satisfaction, we shadowed their journey – lovey duck and her twelve littles – from our house, walking them down the block, through the cul-de-sac, and into a little neighborhood pond where they launched on the next leg of their great adventure.
Launching me, after another sweet season of mothering and being mothered, onto the next leg of mine.
***
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a bit lonely around here without them — lovey duck, the littles, and my mom. I continue to talk with them all, especially on those treasured still nights under the guiding light of the moon after our homestead and the neighborhood have gone to sleep.
There is so much goodness here among the sadness; the richness of welcomes and good-byes. What a wonder and a privilege to hold it, to let it in, and to allow myself to be transformed by it all.
It’s the second Mother’s Day without my mom and if I’m honest, still not a lot makes sense. And. I’m so grateful to have been offered this other precious way to ground, to celebrate, and to mourn. ❤️
Thanks for reading.
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An amazing, beautiful story. Hopefully, mama returns again next year. Sounds like she found her "safe place".