It's Mothers Day Eve...
This is one of my least favorite holidays. It ranks right up there with Valentine's Day for me. I won't belabor you with tales of my past, but suffice it to say that my relationship with my mother was never what I wanted it to be. Perhaps I sound like brat when I say things like that, but "it is what it is," as they say.
This day makes me wonder about people who have/had good mothers. Do they realize the precious gift that they have been given? How could they? In spite of myself, I resent them for not knowing. It is a foolish and selfish emotion, but it is there nonetheless.
I reminisce about motherly women in my past... Wanda, Jeremy's mother. Jeremy has been a dear friend since I was 9. His mother, I think, was more concerned for me than my own. David's mom, likewise, worried about me. Then, there was Janice who worries over me to this day and feeds me more than just good old Southern cooking.
Of course, there is Martha. Sharon's mother. Sharon... my late wife. Martha... the Sunday School teacher. The laundry folder. The quiet still voice that quelled their family's trepidation at the eldest daughter bringing a long haired hippy into their home... and threatening to marry him.
Blessings.
This may be a leap, but I wonder how the elderly bear the weight of all the lost souls in their lives. I have lost but a few, and the weight of their absence presses on me with every breath.
I miss them. I love them.
I do not have the love of a mother. This makes this day that much harder. The air is thicker. The sun is brighter. I squint to block it out.
And hide the tears.
So, for those of you who do have good mothers... Beverly, Jeremy, Kerstin, John, Jane... Remember what a blessing a good woman is. Remember what a blessing a good mother is.
You may not be a fan of hers, but that's okay. Listen to this song... I hope it touches you the way this semi-orphan has been touched by it.
This is one of my least favorite holidays. It ranks right up there with Valentine's Day for me. I won't belabor you with tales of my past, but suffice it to say that my relationship with my mother was never what I wanted it to be. Perhaps I sound like brat when I say things like that, but "it is what it is," as they say.
This day makes me wonder about people who have/had good mothers. Do they realize the precious gift that they have been given? How could they? In spite of myself, I resent them for not knowing. It is a foolish and selfish emotion, but it is there nonetheless.
I reminisce about motherly women in my past... Wanda, Jeremy's mother. Jeremy has been a dear friend since I was 9. His mother, I think, was more concerned for me than my own. David's mom, likewise, worried about me. Then, there was Janice who worries over me to this day and feeds me more than just good old Southern cooking.
Of course, there is Martha. Sharon's mother. Sharon... my late wife. Martha... the Sunday School teacher. The laundry folder. The quiet still voice that quelled their family's trepidation at the eldest daughter bringing a long haired hippy into their home... and threatening to marry him.
Blessings.
This may be a leap, but I wonder how the elderly bear the weight of all the lost souls in their lives. I have lost but a few, and the weight of their absence presses on me with every breath.
I miss them. I love them.
I do not have the love of a mother. This makes this day that much harder. The air is thicker. The sun is brighter. I squint to block it out.
And hide the tears.
So, for those of you who do have good mothers... Beverly, Jeremy, Kerstin, John, Jane... Remember what a blessing a good woman is. Remember what a blessing a good mother is.
You may not be a fan of hers, but that's okay. Listen to this song... I hope it touches you the way this semi-orphan has been touched by it.
