Jaye Lewis - Reach for the Light

'She could grow anything from seed. She would take the tiny seed with her fingertips and place it into the soil; then she would coax it to grow. She would water the soil, faithfully, speaking to the seeds, as if they could understand.

“You’re going to love the sunshine,” she would whisper. “You are going to feel the gentle “tap-tap” of the rain. And after the rain will come the rainbow. Oh, you are really going to love the rainbow!”

I would watch her, and I would marvel at the love she gave to each tiny seed. It was as though the love that she had longed for her whole life, and never experienced, poured out of her heart, and into the seed and soil.

As if in a strange intimacy, she pulled grace and beauty from the depths, and the little plants would burst forth, reaching for light and air. There was some sort of hushed beauty within her. A secret longing that no one had ever seen nor touched. It was as if it were too shy or too scared to awaken, perhaps knowing that once unleashed, it would become out of control.
I often caught a glimpse of that passion when her anger would become unleashed, and it could be dangerous to be the one within her grasp.

She was a mystery to me, this repressed, passionate, secret woman, who gave up on life early within my childhood. In spite of the sorrow, however, I still remember her smile. I remember her beautiful robin’s egg blue eyes, and her warm, throaty laugh. I’ve sat, spellbound, as she told me stories filled with longing and pathos. I would laugh and cry with her, as she spun the thread that formed the fabric of her family history.

She was a beauty overcome by regret and broken promises. She dreamed impossible dreams that were never uttered, not even to me. Yet every once in awhile, that beautiful, passionate woman would peek out through my mother’s volatile journey, usually when she was coaxing plants to come out of the dark…and to reach for the light.