Blessed are the moms whose mothers are still with them. At least they can still say “I love you” or make amends with each other. My mom died at the age of 45 years old after a three year battle with breast cancer. I was only a teen-ager and I never got to tell her “I love you” or even showed her how much I cared before she died. I wish I did. I felt alienated towards my mom because she was so strict and angry, 90% of the time. Sometimes , she would yell with little provocation. It often puzzled me that I once asked my grandmother (her mother) about her bad temper. My grandmother only said that maybe she is strict because she is the eldest in the family.
I never understood my mother until I was 39 years old , the night before my breast surgery. My three children were less than 10 years old in 1996 and I was scared about dying and leaving them so soon. Then I recalled the pain my mother went through during her three year cancer battle and the tears just streamed down my cheeks. I released my hurt feelings and whispered as if she was right there in front of me . I told her I understood now. I forgave her for the things she said or did not say and vice versa . The peace in my heart was overwhelming. I felt God’s presence in the room and prayed that I be given more time to be with my children and see them grow up.
The following day, my surgery revealed benign results.
If at one point, you never understood your mom, just know that she loved you in the only way she knew. If she knew better, then maybe she would have turned her life around. It isn’t good to carry a heavy burden of ill feelings throughout your life especially if you are a mom because it may affect your parenting style. (That’s another story for another day)
Here is something that was shared to me and it speaks for all the mothers . Hang in there. In the end we can only do the best we can.
This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, “It’s okay honey, Mommy’s here.”
Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can’t be comforted.
This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.
For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes.
And all the mothers who DON’T.
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they’ll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.
This is for the mothers whose priceless art collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors.
And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football or soccer games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars. And that when their kids asked, “Did you see me,Mom?” they could say, “Of course, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” and mean it.
This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to ten instead, but realize how child abuse happens.
This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies.
And for all the (grand)mothers who wanted to, but just couldn’t find the words.
This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their children can eat.
For all the mothers who read “Goodnight, Moon” twice a night for a year. And then read it again. “Just one more time.”
This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.
This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.
This is for every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls “Mom?” in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home — or even away at college – or have their own families.
This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they’d be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away.
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can’t find the words to reach them.
For all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.
For all the mothers of the victims of recent school shootings, and the mothers of those who did the shooting.
For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school safely.
This is for all the mothers who taught their children to be peaceful, and now pray they come home safely from a war.
What makes a good Mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?
Or is it in her heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?
The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?
The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when you just want to hear their key in the door and know they are safe again in your home?
Or the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?
The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our thoughts are for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation… And mature mothers learning to let go.
For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.
Single mothers and married mothers.
Mothers with money, mothers without.
This is for you all. For all of us…
Hang in there. In the end we can only do the best we can.
Tell them every day that we love them.
And pray and never stop being a mom.
Please pass along to all the Moms in your life.
“Home is what catches you when you fall – and we all fall.”
