ABOUT AN ELEPHANT-SIZED LOVE.
\nA CROCODILE-LONGING.
\nA HIPPOPOTAMUS-SIZED CARE.
\nAND A HEART THAT SINGS WITH LOUD ROOSTERS.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you nervous?\u201d\u2014a voice from the side asks, interrupting me. I\u2019ve been, for a good five minutes, nose-deep in my phone, zooming in on a photo.<\/p>\n
\u201cMe? No, I\u2019m not nervous,\u201d I lie, forcing a smile without even tinting my rosy cheeks. \u201cWhy would I be nervous? I sent my smart, big kid off to a week-long, structured camp. He went of his own choice. Excited,\u201d I add.<\/p>\n
With clumsy fingers, I try to \u201cpack\u201d the single troop photo uploaded by the camp leaders, the one I\u2019ve just been analyzing with all my visual powers. From the corner of the photo, probably less than a square millimeter, I\u2019ve been trying for a good five minutes to read the face of my nine-year-old \u201csoldier.\u201d What are his eyes saying?
\nSad?
\nTired?
\nMissing home?<\/p>\n
To the human eye, the face might be hard to read.
\nBut to a mother\u2019s eye\u2014no problem.
\nNo problem at all\u2026
\nLook long enough, and you could write an A4 page analysis about what you can read from those almost invisible eyes.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s the start of the week.
\nWe\u2019ve left our big nine-year-old DO at a strict schedule camp for a week.
\nWe didn\u2019t force him. He chose himself.
\nWe nodded in approval. Delivered him safely.
\nWe reviewed the signed agreement again: if something happens\u2014call.
\nIf no call\u2014everything\u2019s fine.
\nAnd in the evenings\u2014if he wants\u2014he\u2019s allowed a fifteen-minute conversation.<\/p>\n
We handed over the \u201cticket\u201d and turned on our heels, walking quickly to the car.
\nNot to rush to enjoy freedom, but so I wouldn\u2019t burst out blubbering like a lovesick rooster in the middle of the campsite, and not embarrass my child.<\/p>\n
That same evening.
\nI sit, phone in hand, waiting.
\nCheck the connection. Perfect.
\nNo call.<\/p>\n
I lift the phone higher, thinking maybe it\u2019s just showing signal, maybe some glitch.
\nSignal fine. No call.<\/p>\n
Check the volume. On. No call.<\/p>\n
Close other apps that might interfere. No call.<\/p>\n
I sit, propped up, almost talking to the phone:
\n\u201cCall me, my beloved.\u201d
\nNo call.<\/p>\n
I think maybe it froze. Should I restart?
\nBut then: \u201cWhat if he calls while I\u2019m rebooting?\u201d
\nSo I wait. No call.<\/p>\n
That night, he didn\u2019t call.<\/p>\n
\u201cWillpower must be trained,\u201d my father used to say.
\nI trained.
\nAll the next day.
\nAnd the whole week.
\nEighteen times I cast my eye toward the phone, like casting a fishing line: \u201cIs it time? Can he call yet?\u201d
\nMentally, I \u201ccalculate\u201d how long until the \u201cvictorious\u201d 7 PM.
\nSneakily check the camp\u2019s page for news to \u201czoom in\u201d on.
\nNothing.<\/p>\n
I sigh like an old steam engine.
\nFeelings intertwine like vines.
\nAppetite has gone on vacation.
\nThoughts collapsed to one side.
\nLonging takes up residence in my eyes.
\nCare settles comfortably in my mind.
\nMy heart weighed down by nine \u201cpins.\u201d
\nAnd to make it feel bigger, additionally\u2014it\u2019s squeezed by the largest pliers from the garage toolbox.<\/p>\n
Living through the whole week like this, I remembered small sentences from my mother throughout life:
\n\u201cCall when you get home.\u201d
\n\u201cLet me know if you arrived safely.\u201d
\n\u201cDon\u2019t linger if you can help it.\u201d
\n\u201cTell me how things are.\u201d
\n\u201cIf you\u2019re late, just ring.\u201d<\/p>\n
At first, I rolled my eyes.
\nLater, very quietly\u2014or at least in my mind\u2014sigh many times, \u201cWhat could happen to me\u2026?\u201d
\nThen countless times I\u2019ve thought: \u201cWhy worry so much about NOTHING?\u201d<\/p>\n
And one time, a sentence pierced my mind forever:
\n\u201cJust because you\u2019re big, doesn\u2019t mean I love you any less.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mothers don\u2019t love by years.
\nTheir love doesn\u2019t care about your height or weight.
\nThey don\u2019t mind if your shoe size already surpasses theirs.
\nTheir hearts don\u2019t count your age.
\nYou\u2019re a baby. A child. A teenager. An adult. Or already elderly.
\nThey don\u2019t care about your clothing style.
\nWhether you\u2019re a punk or impeccably groomed.
\nThey don\u2019t care if you\u2019re married or single.
\nThey don\u2019t care if you live in the capital, abroad, or next door. Behind a fence.
\nVegetarian or meat-eater, sporty or missing sneakers.
\nPunctual or perpetually late.<\/p>\n
Mothers love being near.
\nLove from a distance.
\nLove when you leave and when you return.
\nAnd especially love when we vanish from their line of sight.
\nThen that elephant-sized love combines with crocodile-long longing and hippo-sized care\u2026
\nAnd the mother\u2019s heart sings with nine loud-rooster voices.<\/p>\n
The heart\u2019s singing is magical.
\nIt probably happens in the deepest corner of her heart, well soundproofed.
\nInside, a thunderous concert of feelings:
\nDrums beat, electric guitars screech, brass and woodwinds drone.
\nOutside, you walk quieter than quiet.
\nNo tears. No complaints.
\nBut if you look into her eyes, you want to ask, \u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
A week without my heart\u2019s captain DO.
\nAnd with my own heart\u2019s intense singing patched up.
\nEvery morning, at lunch, in the evening, trying to sleep with tangled vines of thoughts.
\nYou know what you want to do?
\nA) Grab the child tightly into your arms.
\nAnd then\u2026<\/p>\n
B) Hug your mother sincerely.
\nFor all those times, when her heart, squeezed by longing pliers, rang with anxious pins deep inside, singing in a loud-rooster chorus\u2014only we didn\u2019t hear it.<\/p>\n
For mothers.
\nYoung and old.
\nBrand new, rocking not the first baby.
\nFor gray-haired mothers, still painting over their worries.
\nFor mothers watching like eagles, raising noses behind glasses.
\nFor mothers living in cities and villages.
\nPresent, future, and\u2026
\n\u201cThere are no former\u201d mothers.
\nThrough the life-long concerts of their hearts,
\nThey \u201cpreserve\u201d themselves to be ETERNAL.<\/p>\n
Coincidentally, Facebook this morning \u201cpopped up\u201d a memory.
\nExactly nine years ago. Me and Captain DO.<\/p>\n
V.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"template":"","class_list":["post-17571","istorija","type-istorija","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/istorija\/17571","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/istorija"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/istorija"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17571"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}