My mother died on July 30, 1993. Every year when Mother's Day rolls around I miss her all over again. All the ads focus on what you can do for your mother and there is not one thing I can do for mine. The opportunities to express my love and appreciation for my mother are over. I am always glad when the Mother's Day fuss is over.
There was a time I wished Mom would just let me alone to live my own life. Somewhere between my "terrible teens" and thirtieth birthday I did an about-face. I realized how wise and wonderful my mother was and valued her judgments over my own. I also realized I would probably not always have her with me, for children normally outlive their parents. I panicked whenever I thought about trying to live without Mom. I talked to her nearly every day and could not imagine being unable to call her. Sometime after I moved into the forties the panic diminished but I certainly did not look forward to losing her.
All of Mom's siblings lived well into their 80s and her one sister is now 94. I expected Mom to be with us at least until she was 80. When she was diagnosed with a terminal illness at the age of 66, I was caught unprepared. I had two months to adjust my expectations before she died. I went to see her every single day of those two months and was able to accept her death when it came. She helped me do that by expressing her eagerness to go be with the Lord. I have not LOST her because I know where she is, and someday I'll be there too.
The older I get, the more I hear that I look just like my mom. The mirror tells me that is true, but I don't feel I have ever measured up to her in other ways. She was only 4' 10" (so am I) but she towered over me in wisdom and character.
Today Royer's delivered 18 pink and white roses with my name on them---for Mother's Day. When I measure myself against my mother, I know I don't deserve them. I am humbled but grateful to have children who love me in spite of my flaws. Enjoy the roses with me and thank God for your mother, whoever she is or was.
1 comment:
Remember when she turned 40 and we gave her a shawl and other stuff that we thought an old lady ought to have? We thought she was old at 40, and then we thought she was young when she died at age 66.
One thing she demonstrated, and taught us was that small doesn't mean powerless or insignificant.
I miss her too.
Merle
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