There has been so much joy in these passing years, accompanied by some excruciatingly painful sorrows. Yet, if I have learned nothing else, it is that life moves on regardless.
So today, on the eve marking my admission onto this crazy roller coaster ride called life, I want to dedicate my blog to my mom.
Me and my Mom Celebrating my 3rd Birthday
When I was a little girl my mom bought me a sunshine necklace, and told me I was her little sunshine. I always felt special in her eyes.
And years later when the floor of my life literally fell right from under my feet, my mom drove across many state lines to pick up the pieces, bring me back home, and remind me where that sunshine was under all the dark storm clouds.
Then later on, it was my mom who launched me back out into the world, even though it broke her heart to watch me stumbling along, floundering, trying to find my footing again. I would have never known how much it hurt her to push me out on my own–she hid it so well in her eyes, always encouraging me to be strong, to keep going, and to keep growing. She knew it was a lesson I had to learn without her.
A few years later my mom helped me pack up my life to move across the country, all alone at the age of 26, even though she knew it meant our weekly lunches would cease and I may never be “down the street” ever again. She never let me see that she was scared for me. And when I called that first night, a sobbing mess, she told me to pick my chin up and keep going. She didn’t let me run home, even though every motherly instinct in her was telling her to. She knew this was now my path, no longer her own.
My mom not only labored to bring me into this world, she held the container that was my life until my wings expanded so far the container could no longer hold them. Then, she loved me enough to shatter the container and push me off the tree branch so I could fly–sitting terrified as she watched me free fall.
This is what mom’s do; at least this is what my mom did. And this is what I hope to someday be able to do for my own daughter.
I know I have broken my mom’s heart many times over, and that the labor that brought me rushing forth into this world was the easiest part of being my mother.
Because of all my mother has taught me, I know that whether my daughter comes to me through the labor of my body, or of my heart, it’s what happens afterwards that matters the most. Those are the actions that define a woman as a mother.
So today I humbly thank my mother, for the labor of her body, but so much more so for the labor of her heart. Thank you for “loving me enough” all these thirty-five years.