Honoring Mom

Sunday is Mother’s Day. While I look forward to spending time with my Mom on the day set aside to honor her, I would hope that she feels I honor her every day. She is one of my best friends, and I talk to her very nearly every day. Those days when circumstances prevent or shorten our conversation, it seems like something is missing.

For as long as I can remember, anytime anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said, “A wife and a mother.” Mom is a large part of that. She wasn’t a perfect mother, but she did make us feel that mothering was her most important job. She wanted both my sister and me to be strong, independent women. She wanted us learn the important lessons in life, even if that meant making decisions that weren’t popular with us. And she always loved us.

I felt as if our family was normal, until I got to high school and found out that several of my friends were physically or sexually abused. Others had no relationship with their mothers whatsoever. And I began to appreciate how blessed I truly was. All of my friends were welcomed into our home, and several called my parents, “Mom and Dad.” There was no topic of conversation prohibited in our home, even though some subjects made Mom uncomfortable.

Outside of honoring Mom, Mother’s Day is really hard for me, still. For years, I begged God to make me a mother. It didn’t happen. My sister seemed to get pregnant so easily, but I believe with all my heart that God’s answer was the best answer for me. I was in an abusive marriage, and offspring with that man would have made it harder for me ever to leave. Then, in 1990, my gynecologist diagnosed me with polycystic ovarian syndrome. That summer, he removed a ten-pound ovarian cyst. I suffered for many years with escalating problems, finally culminating in a total hysterectomy in 2002.

As much as I wanted children, physical problems kept it from happening. I felt like a failure as a woman, and as a daughter. I couldn’t give my Mom the coveted grandchildren. And Mother’s Day became a painful and tangible reminder of everything I wanted to be, and wasn’t. I struggled with this for many years – torn between wanting to venerate my Mom and later, my sister, (and now adding my niece), who are all so deserving as Moms – and pushing aside the pain and feelings of inadequacy in my heart. I think I have finally come to a place of acceptance, if not total peace about it. True, there are still moments when I feel the pain of never having a child, or a grandchild. But they are few and far apart, and when it hits me, I have learned to acknowledge the loss, maybe even cry a few tears, and then to let it go.

So, Mom thanks for being all you have been to me through the years: teacher, comforter, cheerleader, example, friend, confidante, and most of all, MOM.