Happy Mother's Day

I  already wrote my Mother's Day tribute a few day's back, but yet, it would seem strange and grossly wrong to post anything other than a piece having to do with Mother's Day on Mother's Day.  And, in the end, mother's deserve more than one tribute.  I don't know that there are enough hours in a day, days in the week, weeks in a month or months in a year to allow for the amount of tribute mothers should receive.  As an aside, I planned to post pictures of my day in Holland for the closing of the tulip festival; however, possible snow (!!!!), frigid temperatures and 40-50 mile wind gusts kept me home.  Yes, it's May in Michigan.

I wrote recently that blogging is an inherently selfish thing.  Motherhood, on the other hand, is the exact opposite.  There is no way one can be both selfish and a good mother, at least in my opinion, because the very definition of motherhood is giving of one's self for one's child.  

When I think back about my own mother and my childhood, I wince at all the times I didn't see and appreciate her total selflessness.  I try to comfort myself in saying that, much in the same way that selflessness and motherhood go together, selfishness and childhood go together; and I try to convince myself that it's just all part of development.  Still, I know I carried some of that selfishness into the age of reason, and that's the part that makes me wince.

I think about my mother daily.  And I have, over the past years, become acutely aware of how very difficult it must be to be a mother.  I did not arrive at this awareness from being a mother--I have no children.  But, when I realize how exhausted I am at day's end, and when every little thing is getting on my last nerve, I think of my mother and wonder how she did it all.  My sole responsibility in regards to living things is a Jack Russell Terrier, and some days, I come home so mentally worn out that I can barely walk him out the door.  And then I think back to the times when my brothers and I were much younger.  My mother worked on the other side of town.  She had to rise at the crack of dawn to get to work, and didn't get home until 5:30 or so.  When she walked in the door, often my first words were:  "I'm starving!  When is dinner?"  And then, without complaint, mom would start the task of cooking a dinner for us--5, 6 or 7, depending on how many of us were still at home at the time.  And, afterwards, she would clean up the kitchen.  I'm sure her days, which probably began at 5:30 or 6:00am and didn't end until about 7:30 or 8 that evening, were more physically and mentally exhausting than mine ever could be.  It's not as if she had a fantastic job.  Basically, she was a secretary for a bunch of strange engineering types at Lear Siegler.  And so I'm sure her job at work was as thankless as her job at home often was.   I can't speak for my brothers, but, as a child, I took everything about her for granted.  Given that I come home now some nights and don't bother doing anything but eating peanut butter on toast, I can't imagine what it was like for her to hold down her much needed full-time job and simultaneously raise 5 children.

There are bigger examples of her selflessness. Somehow though, it is the smaller, everyday things in life that I think must be the hardest part about being a mother.  Other than the joy and pride mothers seem to experience through the accomplishments of their children, the daily task of being a mother seems to be, on the surface, a thankless, and, never-ending job.  Grand gestures can sometimes be slightly easier, because one tends to receive acknowledgement and gratitude for them.  And, in regards to grand gestures, there were many committed by my mother on my behalf.   I was unaware, until much later, that she sold her own  mother's genuine silverware to help pay for my college tuition.  I know how much my mother loved her mother, and I know that parting with something of hers that clearly held much sentimental value must have been extremely difficult. I think about the pieces of jewelry of hers that I now have.  I cling to them like life preservers, and I don't think I could ever part with them for any reason.  But clearly, my own mother thought that my college education was worth the sadness that must have resulted in parting with that set.  And, ungrateful git that I was, I probably did not express appropriate appreciation for this act.

My mother, at one point, gave me my grandmother's engagement ring.  It's a rather large diamond, and I used to wear it on occasion.  However, one day I looked down on my finger and realized it was gone.  I was distraught beyond words and I searched high and low.  I worked in real estate at the time and came to the conclusion that it probably came off my finger when I was setting up open house signs, outside.  Friends even brought out a metal detector to help me find it, to no avail.  I was losing sleep at night, because I dreaded having to tell my mother that I lost something of her mother's; something that had both high monetary and sentimental value.  But,when I finally relayed the news to her, she didn't show, for even an instant, one ounce of what must have been her sorrow and disappointment at such a loss.  She immediately went about the task of making me feel better, by telling me it was "just a thing."  She must have instantly realized that I was enduring tremendous emotional suffering and guilt about losing something that clearly was precious to her; and easing those feelings was paramount over her own sadness.  I was stunned by her reaction, but that's only because I was comparing it to what would have been my own reaction.  I would not, or could not have been so generous.  Well, the story has a happy ending, which has nothing to do with this tribute, but weeks later, a colleague found the ring in the front yard (on rocks and gravel) of the house I was sitting open that day.  Nothing short of miraculous, but there you are.  I'm guessing it was found because of my mother's prayers to St. Anthony--who, it seemed, never, ever failed her when something went missing.

Mom had a tremendous devotion to the Blessed Mother.  And that just makes sense to me, because Mary is the epitome of motherhood and the model of total selflessness.  Without complaint, she bravely accepted the many sacrifices and sorrows that came with being the Mother of our Lord.  She endured the unendurable, and I think that almost all mothers, at certain times in their lives, are called to sacrifice what seems to be the impossible for their families.  How they do this and that they do it at all is close to incomprehensible to those of us who are not mothers.

And so, on today, Mother's Day, I not only honor my own amazing mother, but I pray for all mothers to look to Our Lady as their guide, and realize that the joy of motherhood comes not from gratitude given to them by others, but rather, from the brave and courageous act of giving the gift of life to, and lovingly raising God's special creatures--children.  I believe that there is a special place in heaven, very near the Blessed Mother, for all of our good mothers.  Happy Mother's Day.