by Elvenwanderer
Lemon and berries. As a small child I would dig my nose into her skirts or her soft auburn hair and savor her unique smell. It was cool and soothing yet flamboyant and promising, a smell that should have come from Nerdanel the Wise. One of my favorite memories of her is how she would laugh at anything from a flower to a bee. But later, as time wore on and our family grew ever larger, her laugh diminished.
I have always felt somewhat sorry for her, she was young when she married my father. Had she been my daughter, I would be afraid that the hotheaded Curufinwë would smother her, but she loved him more than anything. And it turned out that they were a decent match, her calmness and wisdom counteracting at least a portion of his fiery spontaneality.
Father wanted a large family, which he received, though I'm sure Mother would have been happy with no more than one or two children hanging on her all day. I do not think she would have ever chosen seven had you asked her before she was married how many children she would wish for.
After Morifinwë and Kurufinwë were born she was obviously extremely tired, but somehow Father convinced her to have another child, which turned into two. I believe that she only agreed to have the "sixth" child because she clung to the hope through each son that "this is the one that he will come home to, this is the one that will make a difference" and that perhaps having a sixth would finally bring him home. But none of us motivated him enough, piqued his interest enough to do that, and she was very crestfallen when she saw this.
It must still have been terribly hard for her when she had to tell Father that she would leave him if he did not come home more than once a week. I do not think he understood that "father" was not just an empty title, it was a job that needed to be done, and that no amount of mothering could replace a father's place, especially in a son's heart. He was, after all, the one who wanted all these children, yet he was contributing as little as possible to their lives. It was already too late for Maitimo and I and nearly so for Turkafinwë, but perhaps Pityafinwë and Telufinwë could grow up with their father in their lives.
All in all, I think she loved him too much, if that was possible. My mother - never a passive person around my brothers or myself - always seemed to give in to Father's will in almost everything. This was normal for everyone after all, as Father never lost an argument, and he was always right in all situations. There was no alternative.
In the end, I do not choose to remember her as a sad, worn elleth, but instead as the cheerful, smiling Lady that smelled of lemon and berries.
A/N: I gakked this from Maglor's lj, I think he's ok with it.
Quenya names from PoME: Curufinwë: Fëanor Maitimo: Maedhros Turkafinwë: Celegorm Morifinwë: Caranthir Kurufinwë: Curufin Pityafinwë: Amrod Telufinwë: Amras
All in all, about 500 words.
A note from Maglor: Last night EW found a number of different journal writing prompts and themes, quite a few of which I found interesting.
I was thinking of my mother recently, so I chose this one for today:
"Describe your mother: her smell, walk, and talk. What are your feelings toward her? Did she change much from the time you were a child to when you became an adult?" – Diarist dot net
I picked this title for my choosing of my favorite memory of her. I like to think that is best.
We, in this case, appreciate feedback!