MOMENT | Take a moment of calm with poet Jess Urlichs

0:03Hey everyone and welcome to this week's Motherkind moment. Thank you for being here. Thank you so much for pressing that little play button. This is your place on a Monday for calm connection and maybe even a shift in perspective before the crazy week ahead. Something a bit different this week. It is with the poet Jessica Ehrlich. And this is actually her reading one of her favourite poems. And I love this because it reminds me of what is really important. It is so easy, isn't it, to get lost in all the things that at the end of the day don't really matter. So this is a bit of an invitation to release some of that pressure that you might be putting on yourself and just come back to what's really important to you.

0:52Here it is. Dear Mama, I don't remember if our house was big or small or if we rented or owned. I don't remember if you had a fancy car or if we had to take the bus. I don't remember if the house was clean and tidy or if it was covered in washing piles and scattered toys. I don't remember if my pram was new or secondhand or if I had the latest new toy or designer clothes. I don't remember if you were dressed up or if your face was bare. It always looked perfect to me. I don't remember if you had a lot of money or whether you lived paycheck to paycheck. I don't remember if we went out every day or went on expensive holidays.

1:33I don't remember how sometimes you got angry or cried or had to walk out of the room to take a breath. I don't remember a schedule, a checklist or any expectations other than just you. What I do remember is feeling safe. I remember your comfort and how you kept me warm. I remember your face above me when I cried for you. I remember how you would feed me when I was hungry or tired or in pain. I remember your smell and how it would send me off to sleep sometimes at 2am then again at 4am. I remember your smile. It was the first reason I smiled. I remember how you played with me and got down on the ground with me before I could get up.

2:16I remember you taught me about love before anything else and how it was my constant. I remember knowing it was the only thing I ever really needed and you gave that to me. I never had to work for it. I relaxed in it. Thank you for teaching me that love has no limits, that is unconditional and honest. This is what I will remember, Mama. Thank you for giving me the best memories of all. That is so beautiful. I can see why everyone cries. Yeah, I definitely cried writing that one. I don't cry reading them, but I definitely cry writing them. What were your tears about? I actually wrote that after a friend's funeral and it was a dad who had left three of his young kids away behind sorry and the youngest was so little and it broke my heart because she was just learning to walk and when I was listening to the speeches from his family and hearing one of his children talk about him and what she remembered it just I don't know something about that it was it was extremely sad but the memories were so beautiful and really happy.

3:25And it kind of just made me realize, you know, all these things that we worry about, they're actually not the takeaways that our kids have. When I think back to my favorite memories, it's not anything that was bought for me. It's the time that was spent with me. It's the experiences. It's the expressions I saw on my mom's face. It's, you know, it's those really little things. It's how they made you feel, right? So that's where that inspiration came from. I suspect that's why that poem speaks to so many people's hearts because it's just, you know, when you hear a truth, it's just a truth, isn't it, that we get so wrapped up in.

4:03And I think we all know it deep down. It's just sometimes needing that reminder. I think that's probably why it just touched people's hearts in the way that it did because it's so easy, isn't it, to get lost in thinking about the stuff and what we look like and, you know, have we done enough of this and that? But yeah, when we look back, that's not what we remember, is it?