Saudade de Mãe

I put the filter of art on that common scene, and the light - that
until then was hidden -, came to surprise me with its
power of brightness.

The simple woman, hands calloused from routine work,
woman who learned to heal the world's pains
from my scraped knees from falls and mischief.
That woman, my mother, face illuminated by the flame that originated from the wood stove. She carried with her the gift of
restoring my calm, which life so often tried to steal from me.

That scene: woman, wood stove, black pot hiding the whiteness of freshly made rice. It is one of the most precious scenes that my heart couldn't forget.

Missing mom is a strange thing, it comes when we least
expect: a smell, a melody, a word... an
image, and there the thread of time,
invites us back to childhood.

As if a thread sewed us back to the lap of the woman who first held us in life and now could regenerate us.
Missing mom is a bridge that favors our return to ourselves;
a crossing that embroiders an identity often forgotten,
lost in the rush that takes us away.

Missing mom is a return, it is an act that restores what is broken;
it is a light that signals the location of the harbor,
it is a voice in the ear to calm us in the early hours of despair and loneliness,
through a simple phrase: Sleep my child! Sleep!

Today, on this day when life made me a child again,
at this moment when this happy scene took over me,
there is only one word I want to say: Oh my mother, how much I miss you!