Kallis, ema!

Sa tead mu lemmikluuletust – Betti Alveri “Tähetund”

Mis küsib elulahkmel heitlik maru!
Kuid sina enesele annad endast aru.

Ja olgu öö kuitahes pikalt pime –
sa otsaeest ei pühi oma nime.

Puulehtki vaatab valgust, vajub vette
koos teistega. Ja siiski omaette.

Sul puudub sirav siht? – Eks mine
ja taipa, mis on aina tarbimine.

Kas tead, mis heldemaks teeb tasapisi?
Miks julm ei olda iial juhtumisi?
Miks lillekiivrid roostega ei kattu?
Miks elu tähetund on kordumatu?

Miks tulukene tuisuööde kestel
ei kustunud, ei kustu inimestel?

Eks küsi endast parematelt.
Eks küsi surnutelt. Ja elavatelt.

Kuid ära iial küsi kaduvikult
sa enam neid, kes läksid juhuslikult
kottpimedasse läbi leeteluha.

Oh usu, nendele on ükstapuha,
kas laevamees kord sõudis laternata
nad kaotsi meelega või kogemata.

Aitäh, et oled olnud parim ema, keda ma olen endale soovinud. Aitäh, et oled mu parim sõber nii heas kui halvas. Aitäh, et olen sind saanud usaldada. Aitäh, et see usaldus ajaga aina kasvab. On üks luuletus veel, millele mõeldes tuled alati mul meelde sina. Mäletan, et juba lapsena mõtlesin, kas Lydia Koidulal mõlkusid mõttes sina, kui ta kirjutas ridu, millest hiljem sai “Emasüda”. 

Kas emasüdant tunned sa?

Nii õrn, nii kindel! Muutmata

ta sinu rõõmust rõõmu nääb,

su õnnetusest osa saab!

Miks ma alustasin luuletustega? Sest sina oled mind viinud lapsena luule ja kirjanduse maailma. Sina istusid minuga kannatlikult ja õpetasid mind lugema. Õpetasid ja andsid aega isegi siis, kui ma tahtsin “ja” asemel kangesti kokku lugeda “jota”, sest see ju oli “jot-a”. 

Miks ma põimisin sisse Koidulat. Sest sellele luuletusele tehtud viis oli see, mida ma laulsin kunagi väriseval häälel proovides sisse saada Colombina teartikooli. Esimene kord hakkas suure žürii ja publiku ees hirmus, aga siis sain uuesti proovida sinul käest kinni hoides.

Sina oled see, kellest ma räägin alati uhkusega. “Minu ema….” Ma armastan sind! Sa oled olnud ja oled jätkuvalt mu suur tugi. Sa mõistad seda vähki. Sa saad aru, mis minuga toimub. Sa sunnid mind puhkama. Sa sunnid mind end muutma. Tulema toime selle vastiku pahalasega, kes on minu sisse endale pesa teinud. Sa muretsed. Ja mul on nii valus, kui näen sind nutmas. Kui näen, et see murrab su südant, mis on tegelikult nii õrn. 

Sa oled terve oma elu võidelnud kui emalõvi. Sa oled tugev, sa oled kange, sinuga on mõnikord raske, aga sa oled alati olnud minu ema. Sa oled üks tugevamaid naisi, keda mina tean. Sa kaitsed mind praegugi nagu emalõvi.

Sa oled mulle õpetanud ühte, me võime vaielda, olla tülis, aga me lepime alati ära. Mis iganes jutub, alati tuleb leida see kesktee, isegi siis, kui see näib võimatuna. Isegi siis, kui see on raske. 

Tegelikult oled sa mulle õpetanud väga palju. Rohkem, kui sa arvata oskad. Oled õpetanud hoolimist, enda eest seismist, hellust, headust, oled õpetanud, et kõik on võimalik.

Ma tean, et olen öelnud, et mu ema pole minuga rahul ka siis, kui oleksin maailma president. Ikka sa leiaksid midagi, mida saaksin veel paremini teha. Ja ma peaksingi veel paremini tegema. Peaksin olema veel parem inimene. Ja ma luban, kui tulen sellest võitjana välja, siis võtan endale koera ja olen veel parem inimene. 

Kui peaks juhtuma kõige hullem ja ma ei tule sellest võitjana välja, siis tea, et sina ei ole selles süüdi. Keegi pole. Siis lihtsalt pidi nii minema. Siis jäävad sulle toeks minu neli last, kes kõik armastavad sind. Siis jääb ümbritsema sind hulga meie sugulasi, meie pere, kes kõik armastavad sind. Tea, et sa ei ole kunagi üksi!

Kallistan ja armastan sind igavesti,

Sinu tütar Hetlin

Mõtlesin pikalt, kas kirjutan sellest, kui kehv on mul olemine olnud, aga otsustasin, et vahele on vaja lõpetada üks kiri. Vaatan veel päeva-kaks, kuidas olemine on ja siis jagan seda teiega ka. Aga, ütleme nii, et olemine on sitt. Ja loodetavasti on see tuleviku väetis.

ENG

Dear Mom,

You know my favorite poem – Betti Alver’s “Starry Hour.”

In English it should be something like this:

The wind won’t ask: to what did life amount?
To yourself you’ll render your own account.

However long, however dark the night –
your forehead bears your name in plain sight.

Each leaf that sees the sunlight falls unknown
with all the rest. Yet each one falls alone.

No shining goal, no star to travel toward?
Go and see what is consumerism’s reward.

Do you know how kindness grows, unseen and gentle?
Why cruel deeds are never accidental?
Why helmets rust unless they bloom and flower?
Why life can never repeat its star-bright hour?

Why tiny flames withstood the snowstorm’s test
and flickered on within the human breast?

Go ask your betters, do their bidding.
Go ask the dead. And then go ask the living.

But never ask yesterday
for those who happened to stray
across the sandy marsh into pitch-black night.

It’s all the same to them – was it spite
that made the boatman take his chance
without a light, or was it happenstance?

Thank you for being the best mother I could ever wish for.
Thank you for being my best friend through both good and bad.
Thank you for being someone I can trust, and for letting that trust grow deeper with time.

There is one more poem that always brings you to mind. I remember that even as a child I wondered if Lydia Koidula might have been thinking of you when she wrote the lines that later became known as “A Mother’s Heart.”

Do you know a mother’s heart?
So tender, so sure, unchanged.
It takes joy in your happiness
and takes part in your accidents.

Why did I begin with poems? Because you were the one who led me, as a child, into the world of poetry and literature. You sat with me patiently and taught me how to read. You taught and gave me time even when I stubbornly wanted to read “jota” (translation: a drunk person) instead of “ja,” (translation: and) because after all, it was written “jot-a.” It’s a little wordplay, because the letter J on its own is pronounced “jot” in Estonian, and a is, of course, just a.

Why did I weave in Koidula? Because the poem set to music was the one I once sang with a trembling voice when I tried to audition for Colombina Theater School. The first time I froze in front of the big jury and the audience, but then I got to try again – this time holding your hand.

You are the one I always speak of with pride: “My mother…” I love you! You have been, and continue to be, my greatest support. You understand this cancer. You understand what is happening to me. You make me rest. You make me change. To cope with this vile intruder that has built a nest inside me. You worry. And it hurts me so deeply when I see you cry. When I see that it breaks your heart, which is in truth so tender.

You have fought like a lioness all your life. You are strong, you are fierce, sometimes you are hard to deal with, but you have always been my mother. You are one of the strongest women I know. And even now, you protect me like a lioness.

In truth, you have taught me so much. More than you could ever imagine. You have taught me to care, to stand up for myself, to be gentle, to be kind. You have taught me that anything is possible.

You have taught me one thing: we may argue, we may fight, but we always make peace. Whatever happens, we must always find the middle ground – even when it seems impossible. Even when it’s hard.

I know I’ve said before that my mother wouldn’t be satisfied with me even if I were president of the world. You would still find something I could do better. And I should do better. I should be a better person. And I promise, if I come out of this as a winner, I will get myself a dog and be an even better person.

But if the worst should happen and I don’t come out of this as a winner, then know that it is not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. It just had to be that way. Then you will still have the support of my four children, who all love you. Then you will still be surrounded by our relatives, our family, who all love you. Know that you are never alone!

Hugging you and loving you forever,
Your daughter, Hetlin

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I thought for a long time about whether I should write about how awful I’ve been feeling, but I decided that in between I needed to finish a letter. I’ll wait another day or two to see how I feel, and then I’ll share that with you as well. But let’s just say—right now, I feel like crap. And hopefully, it will become the fertilizer for the future.