When I was a baby, my mother was my lifeline. We shared the wonder of new life together. I, in my eagerness to explore this new world and her, in her eagerness to explore this new being, formed an instant bond founded upon unconditional, unequivocal love. There is such safety, such security, in the knowledge of this love. From it, we both sprang forward into unchartered territories, eager to remain partners in this journey through life. From sweet lullabies and baby powder, to bright colors and action, we moved through babyhood at an alarming rate of speed and are left with snapshots and memories that make us both smile.
When I was a little girl, my mother was my best playmate. We shared secrets, cookies, giggles, and fun. She taught me to read and we spent hours exploring the worlds of Dr. Seuss. She showed me her love every day, in every way. It was in her hands as she guided them in the cookie dough, in her kiss when her magic mommy touch took away my boo-boos, in her tears when she watched me traipse off to school, and in her smile as she watched me grow into a young lady. I returned that show of love in my own way. It was in my macaroni necklaces, my flower bouquets from her garden, my painstaking attempts to imitate her, and my hastily-given kisses as I ran out the door to play.
When I became a teenager, my mother was an enigma. She was my biggest champion, no matter how many times I tried to knock her down. I turned to her when it was convenient for me, and turned against her for that same convenience. She remained a rock – solid in her love, never wavering from her devotion, never yielding to my demands, and never daunted by the task of raising such an ungrateful being. She showed her love by her silence during my tirades, her stubbornness for curfews, her insistence at knowing my friends, her dinnertime together rule, and her understanding that this, too, shall pass. I returned this love by throwing tantrums, intentionally wounding with words, and flaunting my determination not to become the wonderful woman she knew I was.
When I became a young adult, my mother was my advisor. She gave me advice on everything from making a meatloaf to choosing a career. I moved far away, I think, in attempt to distance myself from this woman (where my most recent memories were the trauma-drama of the teenage years). And yet, this proved to strengthen our bond. The miles between us, and the time between phone calls, forced our relationship to rely not on the day-to-day details of life for communication, but rather on current events, political platforms, dreams for the future, and analysis of the past. Through this, I came to know my mother as a real person, not just my mother. I’ve been privy to her strengths and weaknesses, her hopes and desires, her regrets and triumphs. And in them, I discovered myself. I have learned we cannot run from our roots, as they are in us, and are us.
When I became a mother, my mother became a grandmother. Not for the first time, and not for the last, but she became my children’s grandmother, and in that, I see her in yet another role, another facet of her personality. I see the sheer delight in their faces when we visit. The unadulterated love is there, and I ache at the tenderness of it, the innocence of it. Many years, and many inventions, have come to pass since she mothered me, but the principles are still the same. She teaches me this, passes on the tidbits of knowledge.
I have spent my life adoring her, loving her, repelling her, seeking her – and now, as I make my own journey through motherhood, I realize I am now being her. All the life she breathed into me, all the beliefs she instilled in me, all the knowledge she imparted to me, all the love she gave me – all of these things live on. They are in me, and live through me, and I will pass it all on to my children. Her legacy will far outlive her body. I am on the other side, now, a mother in my own right. Sometimes I am driven to my knees by the sheer force of my love for my children. I do not know how I will possibly live up to their expectations of me. At these times, I remember – I am my mother’s daughter – my best friend, my soul mate, my teacher. She taught me well, and I know I will not fail.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.
