There are days when I yearn for my first mother, my omma.  Today is one of those days.  Yesterday was too.  This elephant mom and her elephant baby (courtesy of a Flickr photographer) are good stand ins for my internal desire to still belong with my own omma.

Historically this yen for mothering is most acute in the month of August.  This year there is a bleed over, a seepage of desire.  Emotions uncontained.  Uh oh.  I think, however, that the idea of containable emotions is really an illusion.  After all, who ever heard of a rational feeling?  No.  Reason, cognition, and intellect all work together in our heads.  Their common goal is helping us make sense and assign meaning to our experiences.  Feelings and emotions dance and otherwise commingle in our body, psyche, and spirit, helping us experience our senses and live our lives, fully. 

I began my search for my birth family, particularly my omma, over a decade ago.  With little information and lots of dead ends, the journey quest has been at times frustrating, heartbreaking, hopeful, and fruitless.  As the years pass, the probability of finding her grow less likely.  If still alive, she is aging along with me.  I hope she still walks on this Earth.  And if not, I hope there is an avenue of connection to her spirit.  I want to talk to her and I want to hear her voice talking to me.  There are many things I wish to know.  Omma, tell me the stories of your life and don’t be stingy with your telling.  Unveil the story of my beginning.  You know what I do not. 

So today it does not matter that I am 50 years-of-age and intensely wanting my mommy.  There is no rhyme or reason to intensely wanting.  This is not an incongruent picture as seen from my heart.