Mother’s Day

Not too long ago, my sister handed me a treasure she’d found in our mama’s old cedar chest. It was a handwritten note from me to our Mama. From the looks of the handwriting, I think I was probably seven or eight years old, maybe nine.

Dear Mama,

Thank you for being so sweet to me. I love you very much. Thank you for bringing me to church and Sunday school. Thank you for the things you’ve done.

Love,

Allison

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I remember being this girl. My mama lived on the edge of leaving all the time. My sister and I felt it and felt like we were always waiting on her. We were, at least half the time. But now that I‘m here, I can see her in a way that provides a clarity only time and experience brings. I, in fact, am now in awe of how present she managed to be, because she was carrying things I had no idea about.

If I can achieve one thing on Mother’s Day, it will be that I remind someone to see their mother as a person first. Try to see her as someone who had a life before you came along, who has heartaches, disappointments, and cares, big and small, you’ll never know about.

Should it be that way? Would we raise happier children if we shared more thoroughly the selves we were before we became their parent? I don’t know. I think every person and every relationship is different. As is the mother-child relationship. I had a warm Mama—she smelled good, she looked good, she could cook, she could sew and often did into the wee hours of the night so my sister and I could look good out in the world, sometimes she made something for herself too—she had great style and a good eye. She could sing and she was cool. But there was a part of her that was removed from us. She had secrets. It was her right to have them, and I wouldn’t have understood them when she was on earth anyway. I do now.

I’ve lived a decade longer than she got to. My child turned fifteen this year which was something she never got to see me do. But she can be present with us now in a way she wouldn’t have been able to offer if she were here in physical form. I honestly do feel her hand. I feel her love. I feel her wisdom and her strength. And I am so grateful I had her for the time I did.

I’m also grateful for my relationship with my son, John Henry. It isn’t at all what I thought it might be before I met him, but it’s such a sweet gift. It offers us its own challenges, different from most of the people we know. But in turn, it offers us unique gifts—we live in a world where our achievements are different from the norm, as is our communication. We rely on our silences as much as sounds.

Life is beautiful. I’m glad we’re here together. Whatever your relationship with your maternal figures—I’d also like to say here that I’ve had mothers in many forms in my mama’s absence and for that I am also endlessly grateful—I hope we can all remember that our mothers are our links to our most basic selves. Whether they’re your favorite person or not, that’s due respect.

Peace. Love.

Allison

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