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Welcome to familywisdom.com, a website dedicated to informing and inspiring couples and families. Each week you will find a new article, story or essay about parenting, marriage or life. Suggestions for articles and questions to Ellen Terich are welcome. You can contact her at e.terich1@verizon.net |
THE JOY AND PAIN OF MOTHERS 2004-04-26 It's time to start thinking about mother's day again. As a grandmother, I have watched many mother's days come and go, and the older I get, the shorter the distance seems between them. Yet no matter how frequently it seems we honor our mothers, the fact is we only officially do so once a year. And that is sad. At a time when we offer monthly awards to productive employees, and watch endless awards shows on television, we limit our public praise of mothers to one day a year. Then, when we do honor our mothers, we give them a card with a few lines of verse we haven't written, or run into the supermarket to grab a bouquet of flowers, or take them out to dinner where everyone sits for two hours waiting for a table. It hardly seems enough. It isn't enough. The fact is, there is never a way to repay the women who bore and raised us for all they have done and continue to do, as well as for all the heartaches they suffer, simply because they are mothers. When I think of mothers and their sacrifices, I think of months of morning sickness and swollen ankles and backaches and excruciating labor pains. I think of years of little sleep at night, from the inability to get comfortable during pregnancy, through responding to the wails of a colicky infant and the interruptions of a toddler who won't stay in bed to the pacing as one awaits the return home of a teenager with a new driver's license. I think of the many all-night vigils at the bedside of a sick child. I think of handling temper tantrums and potty training and stubborn two year olds. I think of monitoring sibling rivalry and refereeing sibling fights and trying to be fair while always attending to the child who needs you the most at any given time. Then I think about the cries of "that's not fair," and "I hate you." I think of listening to arguments about chores and dealing with complaints about food. I think about the hours of teaching, and coaching and encouraging. I think about washing diapers in infancy and soccer uniforms in elementary school. I think about the hours of laundry and cooking and holding and listening and putting yourself last. I think about the delicate task of soothing hurt feelings and healing broken hearts. I think about the pain of letting go, as children move away to begin their own lives. And then the many returns home that disrupt the quiet routine you finally got used to. I have three sons and one daughter and, although my mother warned me that daughters stay closer than sons do to their mothers, it is still a difficult adjustment. I talk to my daughter nearly every day, and visit with her and my grandchildren often, but my sons call less and and less frequently. I remind myself that they are busy and have transferred the love and attention they once gave to me onto wives and girlfriends. This is as it should be, yet I cannot explain to anyone but another mother that no matter how independent my sons get, they always occupy such a large place in my heart. Even when they don't call, even though they are so busy that they rarely think of me, they are never far from my mind. Perhaps my sons will comprehend better when they are fathers, but a father's love is different than a mother's, and so I doubt they will ever fully understand. I remind myself every day, however, that I am one of the lucky ones because even though they are far away, my sons can still come to visit. This year I have such compassion for all the mothers who will suffer the worst mother's day ever because they have lost a son or daughter in Iraq or Afghanistan. I wonder if the men in our country who wage wars with such certainty ever think about that. I hope they think about it this mother's day. And I hope we all take a little extra time to think about what our mothers have sacrificed for us. Perhaps a card with our own personal greeting, or a special order of mom's favorite flowers, or a home cooked dinner with plenty of time to talk and express our love would show our gratitude in a more appropriate way than a Hallmark card, a grocery store bouquet, or dinner at a local restaurant. But in the end, there is no way any of us can ever thank or appreciate our mothers enough (except perhaps if we called a little more often). |