The Wonder of Mom
As I look into the mirror, I see you staring back at me. Your eyes are blue but mine are brown like my father’s. Still, there is something of you shining through. As I look at my silver hair gleaming boldly in the reflection I smile. I recall the struggle you faced at my age with your own gray roots breaking through the hair dye. The teenage me reassured you that your beauty was so much deeper than a bottle. I pause to think of my own daughters encouraging me in the same way, and like you, I believed them. I learned from you to have this courage, to give myself permission, to be honest about my hair. You are my mother, my friend, and my confidant. I know that I am strong in ways I would have never been without you. And though it is hard to put you into words, for a few moments I will try.
Motherhood is the best and hardest thing I have ever loved and I learned how to do it from you.
As I look at my hands I realize they look like yours did when I was growing up. I remember holding unto them on our special walks. At the time I was only in second or third grade, it was our special time walking around the block. I would talk and you would listen and together we would always sing our song, the one we made up. I would start, “I love my mommy I love her so.” And you would respond, “I love my sissy, I love her so.” I loved the way our voices fit together as we sang and the power of the pure love I had for you, the first woman I ever loved and trusted with my whole heart.
Such a memory catapults me to the walks I took with my daughter Lydia the spring I was expecting Judah. She had just turned eleven, and our walks were filled with her cheerful chatter. Because I had gestational diabetes I had to exercise after each meal to get my blood sugar down, so she joined me. The top of her brown curly hair met my shoulder as I waddled beside her. She lit the way with her thoughts and though the sidewalk was wide she constantly bumped into me in her excitement to share. I smile as I remember. I treasure those walks now as I look back. Adolescence sneaks up quietly. One day the mother-daughter relationship is close and the next your sweet little girl has a “Keep Out” sign posted on her bedroom door.
Sigh…
I grew up with brothers. Mom, it was just you and me. The sweet childhood bond between us sadly frayed a little as I grew older. I felt the pull of trying to find myself. Even in the midst of my teenage antics, still I knew you were proud of me. I was just blinded by the need for independence, this desire to prove I could do it myself. Until my own children went through this stage, I didn’t realize the pain you had to carry as I withdrew. It is a part of life, a part of growing up, but it still feels like a tug of war in a mother’s heart.
When I think about you, Mom, I think of flowers. I see potted petunias and geraniums in reds and pinks. When I see a pretty plant I want to buy it for you though you already have quite the collection. You have always had a green thumb. I remember when I was little, the many summers you planted a small garden in our back yard full of green beans. To this day you have an assortment of potted plants thriving in your home. I know when I was a kid, you spread out your time carefully between three boys and a girl. You worked so hard to feed, clothe, and transport us everywhere every day I am not sure if anything stayed alive in those hectic years. Now in the empty nest stage of parenting, plants have become your therapy again.
I didn’t inherit your green thumb, but I find myself trying harder to make things grow. It is a simple reminder: seeds planted in the dirt, given water and sunlight, come to life. Somewhere inside my heart, I know it encourages me that all the little things I have done for my children will also help them grow. Even in the midst of some of the clashes over phones or computer time I believe something good was planted underneath the surface. Sometimes late at night, when I think about how my babies have grown up, I need this reassurance.
“Those who sow in tears will reap with shouts of joy. He who goes out weeping, bearing a trail of seed, will surely return with shouts of joy, carrying sheaves of grain.”
When I look back on my young adult years I realize now how self-absorbed I was. I didn’t take into account how you felt when we all left the house in the same year. I was just happy to be on my own. Now in the present, as my children are getting older, I now understand the sadness that sweeps over a mother’s heart. Time keeps reminding me how few moments are left in raising my girls.
What makes a mother a mom? I think it's the way she checks in with us and waits for the real report about how things are going. I think it is the way she gets excited about the new ideas or plans we have. I think it's the way she lights up just to spend time with us. The thought of not being able to call my mom is too sad to linger upon. As I write this, I think of several of my friends who recently lost their mothers. In the past two years, it feels like we all have lost someone dear. I want to pause right now for you. If you have lost your sweet mother, I am so sorry. No words can bring comfort, except to remember the beauty that made her your mother.
Mom, you had been a rock in hard times. You had been my cheerleader and a parental guide in raising my kids. You had been a voice of confidence when I was convinced I had blown it. You have been an inspiration. I understand now how hard it is to continue to reach for your dreams when you have a family to take care of. Their pressing needs make it really difficult to continue to develop your own ambitions. I see now the sacrifice you made for us. You put us above her own needs, and we have been successful because of you. Now that I have two young adult children of my own, I realize how great you really were to me back then. Sometimes I call just to say…
“Mom, thank you for all you did for me.” It makes me cry because now I know…
I am a mother. And when I gather with other mothers sometimes we just sigh. And within that sigh, we all agree. Not with words but with the knowing. The knowing of sleepless nights, cleaning up big messes, removing children from Walmart kicking a screaming, scrubbing out smelly stains from clothing, and staying up late waiting for our child to come home from the dance…
Motherhood is too many things to write down here, but it is worth it all.
Mom, you are beautiful and gentle. Your name is unique, Geraldine, which means: Mighty warrior. I marvel at how you have fought for us with unrelenting faith and persevering prayers. If I have done anything in life worth praise it has so much to do with you. And though growing up changed our relationship, becoming a mother caused me to truly see you. The wonder of you, my mother, my best friend.
