Moms

To any mom who happens to read this, Happy Mother’s Day! Having attended the birth of my five children, I have only half-jokingly said that I understand why a woman would have one child; but I have no idea why any woman would have a second one. Pregnancy, labor and deliver are many clicks beyond hard work. How many men attending the birth of their child have passed out just watching? Is there a single delivery room nurse who, upon seeing the ashen color and fixed stare on an expectant father, hasn’t said, “Are you okay, dad; would you like to sit down?” Carol Burnett has said that the only way a man can understand what it’s like to deliver a baby is to grab his bottom lip and pull it over his head. Most men aren’t willing to pull their bottom lip to the tip of their nose.

I miss my mom. Her death at the age of 77 in July 1999 seemed premature to me. We had no warning of its approach. I’ve rarely felt the depth of emotion that I felt as I held her hand when she died. As Mother’s Day approached in May 2000 I recall the empty feeling I had when I stood in the Hallmark store and did not buy a card for my mom. I still looked at cards that I might have selected for her, and I still thought about what I might have written in them. This year I’ll just say, “Thanks, Mom; for a list of things too long to begin to note.”

Mother’s Day is a bittersweet day in my home now. My wife genuinely cares about how she recognizes her mother and always tries to do something a little special. And, more importantly, she is herself a superb mother who enjoys a special day of recognition where everything is as she would like it to be, which means a day upon which the men in her life do everything she would like them to do. Sadly, everything is not as she would like it to be; and not all of the men in her life are here to do what she would like them to do. The death of her son four years ago tore the fabric of this holiday. To her credit, she has repaired that tear remarkably well; but her loved ones can easily see the patch sewn over the hole.

My wife and I now have the joy of supplementing this day with warm feelings about the young mothers in our family – three daughters and two daughters-in-law, the loving mothers of eight wonderful grandchildren. Needless to say, the spirit of motherhood is alive and thriving in our family and that spirit provides a huge portion of the joy we experience as a family. That spirit has almost a mystical quality to it, perhaps because the depth and consistency of a mother’s love is a mystery to us. Even mothers may be mystified by it from time to time.

Moms aren’t just a source of life; they’re part of what makes life worth living.