Woman. Mother. Wife. Sister. Daughter. Grandmother. And if you’re one of the lucky ones; BFF.
All descriptive words relating to the female that typically dominates our lives. Influences us by example. Teaches us. Her role differs from family to family depending on a variety of circumstances.
Historically, mom’s are remembered as the one who changed our diapers, kissed our boo boos, coddled us closely in their lap, gently rocked us to sleep. She would place a cool rag on our forehead when we didn’t feel good. Awake us from a bad dream with the warmth of her assuring touch. She lifts us up when the world has rejected us. She teaches us about faith. She is usually the one who encouraged us to follow our dreams. Find our passions.
She will do without to ensure her child has what is needed & more often than not, what is wanted.
She will work tirelessly to make ends meet.
She will cry alone in the dark.
She will clothe you, feed you and comfort you until she can no longer.
She is also the voice of reason. Discipline. Correction. She re-enforces values, teaches responsibility, keeps traditions of the past while creating her own for the future. She turns a structure of brick & mortar (or tin in my case) into a warm comforting secure place we fondly label as home.
She is the lighthouse beacon that shines thru our darkest days leading us back to safety when we stray.
A mothers love is unconditional and knows no limits although they themselves are indeed limited.
She was determined. Fierce. Independent. She was strong. She had an enormous amount of compassion. And she never met a stranger.
She was a nurturer. She was a giver. She was a survivor.
She was private. She was a screamer. She was disabled. She was self-educated on most fronts. She was opinionated. She was lonely. She was a force to be reckoned with under the right circumstances. She was a fighter.
My mom had been put up for adoption at birth. She lived a traumatic life with her adoptive mother who was abusive and an alcoholic. She had been physically abused by her adoptive mothers’ frequent suitors. She was subjected to the worst of the worst and had no one to turn to for help. She was alone on the streets as a young teenager. She only had a ninth grade education and provided for herself by waitressing until she met and married my dad.
If you’re a follower of my writings, then you know my mom has passed. We had a relationship full of turmoil. History between us was filled with anger and resentment. We both longed to be closer; we wanted what we witness in other mother-daughter relationships but it just never happened for us. We were different. Our relationship was strained to put it mildly.
However, no matter where I was, no matter how ugly our encounters could become, she never walked away. She never gave up and she always welcomed me with open arms. (And on occasion, she chased me with those open arms too!)
During our final walk, I chose to hold her hand instead of pull away. I chose to embrace her instead of turning my back.
I chose to walk this walk with her because of all things my mother was or was not –
She was human!
She was perfectly imperfect. And in that I am grateful because I too am perfectly imperfect.
Just as with my dad, I look back on my walk with her & can smile. Prior to her passing, just about two months before, I experienced MY perfect day. A day without resentment. A day without anger. Without jabs. A day of forgiveness and healing. And a lifetime of love.
One single day I will forever treasure & fondly recall upon until we see each other again.
So let me ask you… Have you reached out to whom you call mom lately? Do you harbor resentment from the past as I did? I urge you to reconcile those differences. If your mom is like mine was, no matter what has transpired — she’s waiting for you.
She will continue to wait until she can wait no longer & takes her final breath.
Til Next Time ~