Opening : Mon-Fri 08:00 – 17:00

A Mother’s Reflection: A Poetic Journey of Healing with Mateo

(Photos at the end)

In the quiet moments of my life, as I reflect upon the journey I’ve undertaken with my son, Mateo, I find myself wandering through the fabric of our shared experiences. At just eight years old, he stands on the verge of his ninth year, while I, at 31, stand beside him as a mother still learning the intricate dance of parenthood.

Mateo is my firstborn, my radiant guide through the intricate path of motherhood. Together, we navigate a route I’ve never traveled before, his hand tightly clutching mine, leading me with his innocence and boundless curiosity. In our togetherness, I have discovered a source of profound generational healing.

As I observe Mateo, the oldest of two siblings, I am reminded of the stark contrast to my own upbringing. I was the youngest, surrounded by four sisters and a brother, a blend of voices and personalities that shaped my early life. Mateo, however, treads a different path, accompanied by the companionship of his younger sister.

In his world, stability reigns supreme. He has known the warmth of two loving parents throughout his existence, a privilege I never tasted in my formative years. Unlike my fragmented memories of homes past, Mateo has grown in the nurturing embrace of a single home, a place where his roots have grown deep, like the ancient palo verde tree in our backyard.

But what truly binds us are the adventures we embarked upon, just the two of us, traversing the country’s highways and byways. Our greatest escapade led us to Chicago, where Mateo experienced his first boat ride, the gentle waves of Lake Michigan cradling our vessel as he marveled at the vastness of water stretching beyond the horizon. That evening, as fireworks painted the night sky in dazzling colors over the lake, I watched the reflection of those fiery bursts in his wide, wonder-filled eyes, knowing that these moments would forever be etched in our hearts.

Again. I’m reminded of our differences.

Where he boldly stands up for himself, I recall the scars of my past, the echoes of abuse that I carried in my heart. Mateo’s courage teaches me the power of resilience and the importance of nurturing self-worth.

His compassion, a boundless wellspring, stands in stark contrast to my people-pleasing tendencies born of necessity. I watch in awe as he extends his heart to those in need, a living testament to the capacity for kindness that resides within us all.

And as he fearlessly speaks his mind, I remember the years I spent tiptoeing around volatile emotions, my every word a potential landmine. Through his unfiltered expressions, he teaches me the value of authenticity and the strength that comes from being unapologetically oneself.

In the gentle rhythm of our lives, I find a healing balm for the wounds of generations past. With each day, I discover that motherhood is not merely about imparting wisdom but about learning, growing, and healing alongside our children. My son, with his unique journey and spirit, has become my teacher in this poetic odyssey of motherhood and generational transformation.

As we move forward, hand in hand, I am filled with hope that the legacy we create together will be one of love, healing, and the unbreakable bond between a mother and her son.