A Mother’s Day Reprise
Two years ago I wrote a post here for Mother’s Day because I was thinking of a dear friend whose son had died many years before. This past week I learned of another writer friend who lost her son in a motorcycle accident. Being a mother is hard. Being a mother who grieves on Mother’s Day is even harder. So I am posting below a revised version of that earlier post—in honor of all mothers everywhere. Oh, and here is a picture of my mom with my three sons Christmas of 1983.
More than twenty years ago, I had the opportunity to spend three weeks in August at Haystack Mountain School of Crafts in Maine, while my mother and husband took care of our three sons, who were between the ages of eighteen months and six years. It was a special time for me to explore my creativity after constant childcare since the birth of the first of our sons.
One night, I entered the women’s bathroom and found a woman at least ten years older than me, standing over the sink and crying. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me that that day would have been her son’s 20th birthday but he had died several years ago in a car accident. I didn’t know what to say so I stood and listened to her tell the story. And, of course, I felt the fear that every mother fears when she hears stories like this—what if?
I have a nephew who, with his wife, lost his child to a rare disease before she had a chance to reach her first birthday. Attending the funeral, I watched the mother grieve and thought—why?
I have a friend who, as a single mom, lost her only child, a son, to cancer when he was in his teens. Her journey through grief has been one of desperate courage in the midst of pain and depression. And I wonder—how?
When we give birth to our children, we give birth to hopes and dreams and possibilities. But we also give birth to our worst nightmares and to nights of constant worry. To crossed fingers and endless prayers. And to all the whys and hows and what ifs.
Once we give birth, become mothers, we are always mothers. There is never an end. It is who we are for the rest of our lives. Even when those we mother are gone before us.
Today is Mother’s Day when, if we are lucky, our children send cards or call to wish us Happy Mother’s Day.
But what do we say to those mothers whose children are gone? Happy Mother’s Day seems wrong somehow. And yet they remain mothers. Mothers who need to be recognized and honored for the love they gave and for the love they still bear. Mothers who need to be held and supported as they remember the sons and daughters they have lost to illness, violence, and war.
Being a mother takes great courage in today’s world. And great love.
To all the mothers today on Mother’s Day—I honor the work you do to raise your children, unpaid and, the rest of the year, often unacknowledged; I honor the sacrifices you make of time, energy, and even dreams; and I honor your commitment when the child of your heart challenges you to the nth degree of your capacity to keep consistently parenting, to keep loving, even when the challenge is loss.
I honor my mother who is gone, my stepmother who graces my life, and my aunts who support me in so many ways.
I honor you on Mother’s Day.
May 9th, 2010 at 3:17 pm
This was a wonderful piece, Paula. It made me think of an elderly friend of ours who’s son died in his 40’s 21 years ago but she still grieves, even now. It made me realize that I need to call her and acknowledge that she had him, raised him and loved him. I never met him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t in her heart, mind and soul every day. Thanks for reminding me to think of someone else - and to go and hug my kids today, and every day.