Mothers

Very young girls spend their childhood thinking, “I’m going to grow up just like my mommy.” They’ll want to put on make up, wear her shoes, wear her clothes, use her handbags, and if she works in an office, they’ll probably pretend to do that too. But come adolescence and that same girl will at some point think, “My mom is so old-fashioned. She just doesn’t get it. I’m going to do things differently when I have a daughter.”

But as soon as the arrogance of youth subsides and makes way for the wisdom of age, the girl will realize that mothers do know best. Perhaps it’ll come at a point when she’s heartbroken, or contemplating marriage or a big move, or coming to grips with being a mother herself — she will look for that “old-fashioned” woman first, because she will realize that in all the world, there is no woman who will truly, selflessly, unconditionally want the best for her more than her own mother.

In the course of growing up and loving and being loved by my mother, having people close to me become mothers themselves and meeting mothers of all kinds, I have come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a perfect mother. The mothers I know do the best they can with what they have. They raise their children in a way that at some point in time will anger one child expert somewhere in the world. Other mothers, too, will disagree with their child-rearing skills and will probably secretly judge them. But they struggle on and do the best they can with what they have, with ALL that they have. 

And that I think is the nobility of motherhood. That women who have been hurt or scarred or broken at some point in her life could still find it in themselves to love unconditionally, sacrifice day in and day out so that another human being might live happily. I have heard mothers complain about children who are unemployed, or who are in love with an undeserving spouse, or who make grave mistakes with obvious consequences. They complain and bemoan their fate and yet their arms will still be wide open to receive the same children into their fold. I know of mothers who work two or more jobs to put food on the table and send their children to school. I know of mothers whose prayers for their children are unceasing.

And on a daily basis, a mother will give up an hour of her sleep so that she might prepare breakfast for her children. She’ll choose that part of the chicken that nobody else wants so that her children might have the best part. She’ll take the worst seat in the movie house so that her children are more comfortable. Her arms will cramp from being used as a pillow just so a frightened child can go back to sleep. In other words, she’ll die a little to herself each day so that her child might live better.

And in the course of her “dying,” she’ll probably get cranky, lose her patience, raise her voice, yell and eventually feel guilty. But a moment later, she’ll be back to her daily sacrifices again. Because she knows that that’s what being a mother is about.

I think mothers must have the biggest hearts in the world and I really and truly believe that they have a special place in heaven.

Happy Mothers’ Day to all mothers out there. And happy Mothers’ Day to my mom whose life-giving sacrifices and prayers are my lifeblood!