The Lens:
When my mom died, a coworker gave me a card. In it she wrote something to the effect of losing your mom and the responsibility of the matriarchal torch being passed on to the next generation.
That really hit me. It was a frightening thought. I was 49 when Mom died. I felt too young to lose my mom, to become the presence she had been.
I had been married for 23 years, and a mom myself for 20 years. I had been a major contributor to our household finances as a working mom until I took time off when my oldest child was 5.
It would seem it had been a long time since I needed my mom. And in some ways that was true. Even though I technically didn’t need her anymore, there were many times I still relied on her for her knowledge, her calm in the face of adversity, her support in times of strife.
I remember before I had children, both my husband and I got sick. She showed up at our door with some chicken soup. We didn’t ask for help. She just showed up. I was so grateful.
These are things moms do/are that you never grow out of. Yes, I didn’t need her anymore. But, I sure wanted her.
I read an opinion piece in today’s San Francisco Chronicle. It was written by Emily Hoeven and titled “I rely on Mom’s strength; my kids will rely on mine.”
It echoed many of the things I mentioned above, and more. I could have written it (but, alas, I didn’t).
Whether or not we can admit it to ourselves, the far majority of us likely want a mom, no matter how old we are. We want someone out watching out for us. We want someone to reassure us, tell us everything will be ok. We want someone to cook us a hot meal. We want someone to turn to when we don’t know who else to turn to.
There is no one like mom.
The Refraction:
I remember seeing an interview a long time ago with a dad of a professional athlete. The dad was lamenting that when the camera would go to his son, the son would always say “Hi, Mom!” The dad’s gripe was that he was the one who played catch with the kid.
When I relayed this story to my son, he said, “Yeah, but it was mom who took him to all his practices, went to all the games, brought all the water and orange slices,” etc.
I know not all moms are created equal. And, I know there are children out there who don’t have a mom in their life.
We have a “cousins” text group. It is made up of the children of my dad and his two siblings. There are 10 of us in all, and all of us are parents ourselves. The texts start flying for different reasons but most often on any given holiday. Mother’s Day is no different.
On last year’s Mother’s Day’s thread, we acknowledged my male cousin. Even though he isn’t a “mom,” he spent many years filling that role with his two children.
At lunch today with my two sons, we were talking about Mother’s Day. I was saying I think “Mother’s Day” should evolve a bit.
Traditionally, mom was the one who took care of the children. But, things are changing. Men are starting to fill this role more and more, sometimes by choice, other times out of necessity.
I was saying that being a mother isn’t what makes moms special. It is the mothering we do. My son added, more like a verb than a noun.
Exactly.
Moms aren’t special because they give birth to a child. They are special because of the love and care they give, a love and care that never ends.
I added that I think men are coming to realize the special relationship you develop with your children when you mother them.
Mothering is not easy. It involves giving your heart and soul to another being, and giving it without the expectation you will get anything back in return. It involves understanding a changing relationship, when you need to let go, and when you should step back in. So, to all of you out there who mother someone, here’s to you. Happy Mother’s Day!