With Mother’s Day approaching, reflections of all three of these incredible women dart in and out of my thoughts, so I’m writing a three-part blog dedicated to each of them.
The first woman born in May was my own mother who I lost over 10 years ago. If she were alive today, she would celebrate her 92nd birthday later this month. I imagine my mother was an ultimate surprise when she was born to my grandparents after 19 years of marriage and no children. She surely was the apple of their eye as their only child.
She certainly was the apple of mine. Washington Irving said it well when he wrote:
“A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.”
I loved and admired my Mom so much, it’s difficult to express in words. I watched her with awe and respect, especially in her last year of life as she bravely and without complaint battled the cancer that was taking her body captive.
Mom was one of the strongest, most determined people I’ve ever met; she had a feisty spirit and she was fun (ask any of her grandchildren!). She loved God, her family and her home. She was happiest when she was whipping up goodies in the kitchen and watching her loved ones enjoy her home cooking.
Crafts, sewing projects, quilting, crocheting – all right up her alley. Any ideas to enhance her home or anything she could make with her own hands to give as a gift caught her attention – just one of the ways she demonstrated her love. She especially enjoyed planting flowers in her garden and watching her six grandchildren flower as well.
When I was a squirrelly teenager, my mother suffered through menopause. The combination wasn’t exactly compatible so we butted heads often. Sometimes, she just made me so mad, I would stomp up the stairs to my room and cry my eyes out. And I know I made her just as angry. But not once, did we ever stop loving one another.
As an adult, I realized first-hand the stresses my mom endured. And I sadly recall wounding my mom so badly one time during my teenage years. After yet another ridiculous battle of words I waged with her, I had shouted, “You don’t love me and you never did!”
I’ve never forgotten the look of horror on her face as she recoiled from my venomous words. She seemed to wilt as she slowly sat down and tears quietly streamed down her cheeks.
I don’t believe I have ever regretted words more than those ugly ones I flung at her that day. The power to reduce my mother to tears did not give me satisfaction, instead it made me realize what a spoiled brat I was being and I never hurled hurtful words like that to my mother again!
But through those trying years, Mom never stopped encouraging me, giving me good advice when I needed it and loving me. She urged me to be the first person in our family to attend college.
Without admonition, she expected me to try my hardest at whatever I endeavored. I remember many late summer nights, swaying gently back and forth side by side on the front porch swing, having conversations with Mom about boyfriends, what college life would be like, and dreaming about my future.
Later, I would make my mother cry again. When I married my true love and we loaded our belongings into a U-Haul trailer to move half-way across the country, my mother wept. And every time we visited my parents from our home away from home, she would once again cry each time we said goodbye.
My Mom was always my rock. She was the one I turned to for help, to vent, to rail against the injustices of my world because I knew she was always on my side. And she always knew what to say to pick me up, dust me off and send me back on my way.
She provided the strong arms of comfort into which I collapsed with hysterical tears in an airport ladies room after sending my military husband off to a foreign land for a year’s tour of duty. Pregnant with our first child and saying goodbye to my husband, who would miss the birth of that child, was the most heart-wrenching task I had ever endured.
And it was Mom, who held me tight, rocked me in her arms even while she cried with me, and whispered in my ear, “You’ve got to think about this new little life you’re carrying inside of you. You’ve got to be strong for the baby.”
I didn’t want to be strong. But I learned to be. And that’s one of the lessons I learned from my mother who portrayed strength every day, even as she lay dying all those years later.
Today in Chapter 5, Page 6 of my book of Opportunity and on Mother’s Day, I will miss my mother terribly. But I can almost hear her whisper, “You’ve got to think about your own family, your children. You’ve got to be strong for them now.”
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Give Jesus a hug for me.
“I miss thee, my Mother! Thy image is still
The deepest impressed on my heart.” ~Eliza Cook