Isn’t it amazing how our relationships change and grow through the years?
In my own life, I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot lately. As I write this column, on July 2, it is my mom’s birthday, and I hope it is a better day for her than Mother’s Day was this year.
Mom should have had a relaxing day, spending time with all five of her children, worry-free, carefree, while we took care of her as she has always taken care of us.
But, things happen.
On Mother’s Day, the woman who has always cared for us, worried about us, loved us as only a mom can, was doing the same again. My eldest brother was sick, my youngest sister was in the hospital with a staph infection.
Mom, meanwhile, was caring for my youngest sister’s daughter, and worrying.
That is what moms do; I know, because I am a mom now, too.
Too often, I think, we take our moms for granted. My dad is very extroverted, my mom is much quieter. My personality has always seemed to more closely match his. Like many mothers and daughters, my mom and I did not always get along when I was a teenager.
Was it because I was too busy trying to define who I was? Was it that we were more alike than I thought?
I moved away from home at 19 to live with my aunt for a year as my parents moved into a new home in Groveland Township, far from my friends and where I was attending college. I didn’t call as often as I should, but when I burned my leg on a motorcycle exhaust pipe during that year, who was the first person I called? Who dropped everything and came on the run to take me to the hospital? Who has always taken care of my boo-boos? Who, when I was a little girl, did I crawl into bed with when I thought there were ghosts? Who dried my tears when I failed my driver’s test?
Mom, of course.
My year away from home ended and I moved back with my parents for a short time and it was different. I, as an adult, was starting to see my mom through new eyes.
Our relationship came full circle and I began the relationship I should have always had with my mother the day I told her I was pregnant, more than 16 years ago. I was the same age she was when she was pregnant with me, but I was still young and scared and felt unprepared. She was sitting in a chair and I knelt next to her after I told her and she smiled and hugged me and let me know, as she always did, that everything would be all right.
It was all right, because I had her in my corner, as she has always been. It was more than OK, because I had the finest example right before me of what a mother should be.
My mother was by my side for long hours as I was in labor, worried for me as always, caring and supportive as always. My husband held one of my hands and she held the other. Hers was the last face I saw before they wheeled me to the operating room for a C-section, and I will never forget the love and concern I saw there.
I will never forget, either, the relief and joy on her face and the tears that fell from her eyes as she held my daughter a short time later. I knew that my mom would be an amazing grandma, and she has been.
I realize now all that my mother has done and been for all of us, the sacrifices she has made. The love she has is unconditional and endless.
Today, Mom, on your birthday, I struggle as always with what gift to give you. What do you give to the person who has given you everything you need? love, security, confidence, a belief you can do anything?
You say you don’t need anything, all you need is my love.
I want you to know, Mom, that you have always had that. The love you have for me is returned ten-thousand fold.
Being a mom is the most difficult job there is, as anyone who is a mother knows. I worry all the time whether I am doing it right.
You, supportive as always, have told me I am a great mom. I don’t know if it’s true; but if it is, I owe it all to you, for showing me the way.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.