By Charlotte Jarmy

Daffodils and mama

Our daffodils bloomed and too soon died. I miss them. Their shining beauty rose up with graceful dignity and reflected the bright sun that touched their distinctive shapes with gold. Wordsworth’s poem has kept their special effect alive:

“For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon the inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.”

Mother’s Day has also come and gone, but I often have a vision “flash upon the inward eye” of my mother sitting on a lawn in front of a Brooklyn museum surrounded by hundreds of the lovely flowers. I was 5 years old at that time and, without hesitation, dashed into traffic and sought to reach her side. Cars stopped with a horrible screech to avoid hitting me as I continued on my heedless way.

Mama ran to gather me up in her arms, hugging me to her and whispering my name over and over. Forever more I associated daffodils with my need to be near my mother.

She, who had always been so strong and protective, revealed that tremendous bond between mother and child. I knew intuitively that Mama would always be vulnerable when her children’s safety was at risk.

Years later, after the birth of my third son, I learned again of her deep-seated fear, but not because of any real danger. Mama came from New York to help but something was different. She refused to reach out for the baby and looked upset when I questioned her. Later that night, we had a few moments alone and she told me something that shocked me. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt the baby. I had a dream about a knife that I held near your brother. Since that day I don’t trust myself with knives or being alone with my darling grandchildren.”

Mama, always somewhat a mystic, believed in the power of dreams. My brother told me that no new knives were allowed in their house. It took a week and lots of reassurances before Mama would hold this adored grandbaby. I noticed but never mentioned it to her that she put away a few of our sharpest knives.

I hold on to this memory because I was proud that my mother had reached out to me and revealed a secret part of herself that she was ashamed and frightened about. I felt as protective of her as she had always been of me. Mothers don’t have to be towers of strength; love and trust can come from knowledge that they need us.

Mother’s Day and daffodils remain entwined in my thoughts about Mama.

Jarmy’s column is published the third week of the month. Send comments and suggestions to her c/o editor Bruce Barton at bruceb@latc.com.