Three generations of mothers…
Mother’s day is a strange one for me. The part where my children wake me up with cards, breakfast, and a plethora of crafts that I can’t identify without my husband mouthing their meanings behind their heads – that part is awesome. However, the part where I remember that Mother’s Day was the last day I saw my grandmother alive - not so much.
I truly love thinking about my grandmother. Most days I smile instead of frown, and I feel joy instead of pain. She lived a very long, very filled life.
But I still want more.
I still want her to be here. I want her to see my children grow up. To hear when my daughter asks questions like, “Will I ever grow a penis?” or when my son kisses my toes and asks if he can put one in his mouth. You know, the great stuff about parenting.
And I know she can’t. At least not in the physical sense.
I try not to remember that last day. The pain of walking out of her room and knowing in my soul I was never going to see her alive again. I carry that with me every day.
But I try not to keep that load too heavy. I have two little ones who need me to be excited about what they just built out of Legos or happy to see their glitter glued creations stuck to the floor.
So on Mother’s Day, I’ll smile. I’ll smile because I got to love her. She got to love my children. And together, we were mothers. That’s what it’s all about, right?
And to my own mother – you deserve the greatest thanks of all. I love you. You are the strength that binds it all together.
So happy Mother’s Day to all of you. Whether you are a mother or celebrate having one, thank you for being part of my motherhood journey.
