We all thought our mothers had eyes in the back of their heads. We couldn't sneak a cookie or a kiss without her sensing it. Growing up, I felt my mother's gaze restricting me. I would often catch her staring at me. And I would sharply say, "What are you looking at?" I saw her stare as reproachful or admonishing. In reality, she just had a neutral face. And now as a mother myself, I know she was just marveling at her creation in awe and amazement. I realize she was not looking at me with her eyes, but with her heart.
The eye of my mother's heart sees in all directions.
The eye of her heart is not just in her front body. The eye is at the back of her heart as well as along her sides - the full circumference of her heart space. Maybe this is why we feel that our mothers have eyes in the back of their head. It's their love that permeates and infiltrates.
My mom's "eye feelers" are constantly out sensing who is in need. My mother recognizes accomplishments. She sends cards and notes of encouragement. And offers "corrective" speeches. She makes phone calls reminding us of another family member's birthday. Despite the suffering effects of Parkinson's, my mom, with garbled speech, will call to connect. With shaky hands, she writes her notes. While her physical body may be struggling, the eye of her heart still clearly sees in all directions.
If fortunate enough, each generation has the protective, teaching, guiding "eye of a mother's heart."
My kids think we have movie cameras in the house watching them (we don't). What they feel watching over them is my love.
My children have not asked me, yet. I am ready for the question. I have an answer. Thanks to my mom.
Question: "What are you looking at?"
Answer: "My love."