My mom and I held each other, crying, when she looked at me and said, You girls think I'm so strong. I'm not strong. I got all my strength from your dad. I couldn't believe my ears. It was the night my dad died and we were understandably shocked. I wondered when I would wake up from the horrible nightmare I was having. We were both terrified as the coroner did his thing with my dad and we waited for someone to tell us what to do next. We hoped someone could tell us what to do next. I panicked, briefly, but I knew she was wrong. I knew she was strong. Maybe she did draw some, maybe even a lot of strength from my dad, but I also knew that deep inside her lived a wellspring of strength that pumped up and through her veins like blood. Strength is in her nature.
During my grandmother's funeral (this was my mom's mom or Mumma, as my mom and her siblings called her), I remember noticing something similar in each of my cousins. I'm not sure exactly what to call it, but it basically says, "Don't fuck with me." It's not a total tough guy kind of thing, but more of a strong and silent confidence. I watched my cousins closely for a while as I considered the fact that each of us had my grandmother's blood pumping through our veins. I was so proud of all of us. We came from a long line of strength and we carried it with us, we kept it going, and now we pass it on to our children.
When my son James was born, nine years ago, my understanding of Mother's Day shifted. Now, I was the mom. I never abandoned an effort to celebrate my mom and my mother-in-law on Mother's Day, but I certainly felt the day was really more about me now. Me, my kids, my family, and what I wanted to do on this one day. But today was different. I didn't even see my mom today - we celebrated together with my sister and her family yesterday - but I couldn't stop thinking about her. I couldn't stop thinking about how even if she wasn't my mom, I would admire her. I would love her. I couldn't stop thinking about how, at age 38, my need for her presence in my life is more pressing than ever. I need her strength.
My mom is human, let's be clear about that. I even remember hating her at times when I was a teenager. I remember one time, I was bent over, looking for something in the car, and she was outside the car by my feet. She was on my case about something and I actually, albeit briefly, considered kicking her in the face. We did the typical mother-daughter thing. The thing I dread doing with my daughter.
In addition to being human, my mom is an angel. As I reconnected with girlfriends from the past over Facebook, many of them recalled how sweet my mom was as our Brownie leader. Keep in mind, we are well past old enough to have our own Brownies. When my class, the class of '91, entered high school none of the teachers would agree to be our class sponsor, as was tradition. My mom did it. She helped us build floats for Homecoming, she planned fundraisers with us, and she connected with a lot of the kids in my class. She still speaks of them fondly, with a smile and usually a funny memory.
She was always there for me. And she has always been there for a lot of people. Until a few years ago she was a school nurse at an alternative school in Flint. She taught childbirth education to pregnant teens. A job fit only for an angel and she did it with strength and grace and respect for those girls like I'm quite sure some of them had never experienced. I loved hearing stories about her students and their babies. They weren't always happy stories though. There were many, many stories that were tough to hear and many I'm sure I will never hear. I thought those girls were so lucky to have a woman like my mom on their side.
Just like me. I call my mom before I call the pediatrician. God only knows how many times I asked her questions through each of my pregnancies as I anticipated labor and delivery. And when those little bundles of need, and joy like I had never known arrived, my mom was by my side. She gave me the confidence to try new strategies for sleeping, eating, and cleaning up messes. She believed in me. She guided me gently, lovingly, and with compassion. She continues to parent me, even as I parent.
And without skipping a beat, she grandparents. Yesterday she and my two younger children were having a piano concert. Each of them took a turn playing their "piece" and then everyone clapped. The pianist bowed. I'm pretty sure my kids couldn't have been more into it if they were performing at Carnegie Hall. My mom has this way of engaging children. Somehow she makes it seem that whatever is happening, from cleaning toys up from the floor to picking rocks up from the beach, to looking up at the stars, is the most exciting thing that could be happening in that moment. She makes up songs and stories and my kids laugh and sing and really, simply, bask in her glow.
People love my mom. I love my mom. I am eternally grateful for all she is and all she does. She has been through so much in her life. She lost her husband, the love of her life. That kind of loss can break a person. But no matter what, she never fails to show up. She is always there. She may be late, but mostly she walks through the door with her sparkling blue eyes and a mischievous smile. I say something silly to greet her and she laughs out loud. She is steadfast in her love for her family, her garden, her home, and all her works of art. Like her mother and the many, many mothers before her, my mom is as strong and fierce as she is gentle and kind.
Now that I think I get it a little better, what it truly means to be a mother, and that it doesn't end, I feel a little dumb for ever thinking that Mother's Day was more about me in my first months of motherhood. Not that new mothers are not in their own category of angel, but I still had so much to learn...I still have so much to learn. Sitting at dinner today with my mother-in-law and two of her three sons and her grandchildren, I thought about how lucky I am to have such incredible role models. When I stop to think about it, I am blown away by the strength it takes to be a mother. It is a full mind and body experience. My dad may continue to be a source of strength for my mom, like we couldn't have known he would be on the night we lost him, but at her core, my mom is just as strong, in fact stronger, than her girls ever thought she was. She is the true source of her strength and I am so proud of her. I am honored to share this day with her. Happy Mother's Day Mom!
During my grandmother's funeral (this was my mom's mom or Mumma, as my mom and her siblings called her), I remember noticing something similar in each of my cousins. I'm not sure exactly what to call it, but it basically says, "Don't fuck with me." It's not a total tough guy kind of thing, but more of a strong and silent confidence. I watched my cousins closely for a while as I considered the fact that each of us had my grandmother's blood pumping through our veins. I was so proud of all of us. We came from a long line of strength and we carried it with us, we kept it going, and now we pass it on to our children.
When my son James was born, nine years ago, my understanding of Mother's Day shifted. Now, I was the mom. I never abandoned an effort to celebrate my mom and my mother-in-law on Mother's Day, but I certainly felt the day was really more about me now. Me, my kids, my family, and what I wanted to do on this one day. But today was different. I didn't even see my mom today - we celebrated together with my sister and her family yesterday - but I couldn't stop thinking about her. I couldn't stop thinking about how even if she wasn't my mom, I would admire her. I would love her. I couldn't stop thinking about how, at age 38, my need for her presence in my life is more pressing than ever. I need her strength.
My mom is human, let's be clear about that. I even remember hating her at times when I was a teenager. I remember one time, I was bent over, looking for something in the car, and she was outside the car by my feet. She was on my case about something and I actually, albeit briefly, considered kicking her in the face. We did the typical mother-daughter thing. The thing I dread doing with my daughter.
In addition to being human, my mom is an angel. As I reconnected with girlfriends from the past over Facebook, many of them recalled how sweet my mom was as our Brownie leader. Keep in mind, we are well past old enough to have our own Brownies. When my class, the class of '91, entered high school none of the teachers would agree to be our class sponsor, as was tradition. My mom did it. She helped us build floats for Homecoming, she planned fundraisers with us, and she connected with a lot of the kids in my class. She still speaks of them fondly, with a smile and usually a funny memory.
She was always there for me. And she has always been there for a lot of people. Until a few years ago she was a school nurse at an alternative school in Flint. She taught childbirth education to pregnant teens. A job fit only for an angel and she did it with strength and grace and respect for those girls like I'm quite sure some of them had never experienced. I loved hearing stories about her students and their babies. They weren't always happy stories though. There were many, many stories that were tough to hear and many I'm sure I will never hear. I thought those girls were so lucky to have a woman like my mom on their side.
Just like me. I call my mom before I call the pediatrician. God only knows how many times I asked her questions through each of my pregnancies as I anticipated labor and delivery. And when those little bundles of need, and joy like I had never known arrived, my mom was by my side. She gave me the confidence to try new strategies for sleeping, eating, and cleaning up messes. She believed in me. She guided me gently, lovingly, and with compassion. She continues to parent me, even as I parent.
And without skipping a beat, she grandparents. Yesterday she and my two younger children were having a piano concert. Each of them took a turn playing their "piece" and then everyone clapped. The pianist bowed. I'm pretty sure my kids couldn't have been more into it if they were performing at Carnegie Hall. My mom has this way of engaging children. Somehow she makes it seem that whatever is happening, from cleaning toys up from the floor to picking rocks up from the beach, to looking up at the stars, is the most exciting thing that could be happening in that moment. She makes up songs and stories and my kids laugh and sing and really, simply, bask in her glow.
People love my mom. I love my mom. I am eternally grateful for all she is and all she does. She has been through so much in her life. She lost her husband, the love of her life. That kind of loss can break a person. But no matter what, she never fails to show up. She is always there. She may be late, but mostly she walks through the door with her sparkling blue eyes and a mischievous smile. I say something silly to greet her and she laughs out loud. She is steadfast in her love for her family, her garden, her home, and all her works of art. Like her mother and the many, many mothers before her, my mom is as strong and fierce as she is gentle and kind.
Now that I think I get it a little better, what it truly means to be a mother, and that it doesn't end, I feel a little dumb for ever thinking that Mother's Day was more about me in my first months of motherhood. Not that new mothers are not in their own category of angel, but I still had so much to learn...I still have so much to learn. Sitting at dinner today with my mother-in-law and two of her three sons and her grandchildren, I thought about how lucky I am to have such incredible role models. When I stop to think about it, I am blown away by the strength it takes to be a mother. It is a full mind and body experience. My dad may continue to be a source of strength for my mom, like we couldn't have known he would be on the night we lost him, but at her core, my mom is just as strong, in fact stronger, than her girls ever thought she was. She is the true source of her strength and I am so proud of her. I am honored to share this day with her. Happy Mother's Day Mom!
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| My mom and her grandchildren, July 4, 2010 Glen Arbor, Michigan |
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| My mom with my sister and me, Easter 2011 |
Anna, thank you for your "words." You are an inspiration!
ReplyDeleteWow! Speechless-so beautiful! Laughing, smiling, through the ears of course!
ReplyDeleteTears not ears!
ReplyDelete