The Miracle of a Mom
There are a few things in life that trump everything, and a mom is one of them. They stand apart from the queue of distractions that consistently contend for our precious time, and even though we aren't always the best that we could be as sons and daughters, in our own ways we acknowledge that these woman have weathered storms, passed on opportunities, and otherwise performed miracles to our benefit. While a mother is, biologically speaking, someone who gives birth to another, there is another definition that I'm fairly sure we're all acquainted with: the person who was there to love and care for us when we most needed that someone to be there—is very much so, a mother, too.
Certainly, not all mothers are created equal; and, there are undoubtedly mothers who don't win any awards for being the stalwart beacons of love that we may have thought we needed. Nevertheless, I suggest that we take a moment, not to judge them as good or bad, but to just try and understand the role of motherhood and give them our appreciation. Motherhood is selflessness, friendship, saintliness, and ferocity all entertwined in one. It's a role that does not come with written instructions, and inevitably we have witnessed some of their foibles and falls throughout our lives. Maybe we've even been on the receiving end of some of those perceived failures, but I'm of the opinion that all wounds have the capacity to heal with empathy and time. And perhaps, what makes a mother so great is her impervious resilience to an otherwise imperfect set of circumstances—under which she is still able to perform miracles in moments of need.
Every Mother's Day I give the standard greeting to my mother, and though I'm not able to give her a hug or otherwise spend the day with her, I do carry her life in my heart and thoughts. I see glimpses of her when I look in the mirror; I hear her laughter, when I laugh; and ultimately, I have shared and felt her tears—and know that she has felt mine. I can't imagine how difficult it must be for a mother to see her child in a cage, or otherwise know that danger is everywhere around her child and there is little to be done. Words like sadness or sorrow fail to internalize or otherwise explain what a mother's burden is. It can only be a conglomeration of emotions that penetrates to the very marrow of her soul, and I can't help but wonder if a son or daughter ever gets to fully comprehend the perfect love of her imperfectness and just how much it has sustained them—or us.
When I was young there was no frame of reference by which to comprehend the choices and sacrifices that my mother was making on my behalf. I couldn't see, for example, the expensive private school as the burden that it was, or know how stressful it was for her to think of things like clothing, shoes, musical instruments, special school projects, private tutors and sports. She always had the option to ask my father for help, but I'm sure that came with its own form of self-defeating peril and humiliation from a man who had failed her as a husband—though, there were times when she had no choice. Then there was the paradigm of responsibility that existed in most households when I was young; and though it has undoubtedly shifted since then, at that time, the mother was expected to occupy herself with the children, the household, and still find time to work. And if she happened to be a single mother, well, that in itself was a label that, in many ways, must have been like wearing a scarlet letter in the 17th century.
There is a very singular irony in the expectations that we have of a single mother. To begin with, she is expected to wear all the hats and absorb all the responsibilities of the household and parenting, while somewhere along the way still finding her own happiness in relationships, career, or anything else she might want in life—and do so with a label that says "single mother" but implies everything from "impossible to be with" to "unlucky" to "failure"—to things that I won't repeat here. Then, if the child is ill, disruptive, or otherwise in need of more attention, she must juggle those needs against her need to pay bills, rent, buy food, and everything else that sustains their lives while maintaining that "motherly glow" that she had when she was pregnant. And we're not even stepping into the realm of birthday parties, quinceañeras, holidays, graduations, and everything else that comes with parenting. How do we even begin to appreciate and thank someone who has managed all of these small miracles without asking anything for herself?
I don't pretend to have the answer. In the same way that I'm not pretending that many mothers don't drop the ball in some ways along a very difficult path through an otherwise imperfect life, because they do. Nevertheless, today I'm referring to these amazing, imperfect women who have dropped the ball and picked it up, any number of times, because greatness in all shapes and forms should be celebrated as much as it is emulated. And though there are circumstances in life where our appreciation for these women is unable to manifest itself through our actions, sometimes the recognition of our understanding can be enough until such time that our appreciation can shine forth.
Today, as we thank our mothers for their perfect love, let us also thank them for their imperfections. Life has taught me that nobody is entirely good or bad, if they were it would be easy to judge them. Whatever imperfections our mothers may have had, let it be known that perfect love trumps whatever may have gone wrong along the way. In fact, their resilience and bravery in the face of so much uncertainty is the perfect example for us to follow in our own moments of difficulty and doubt. Because for many of us, these imperfect women, were all that stood between us and the potential disasters prowling just outside the front door—and because they were there we probably never fully knew of the harms trying to find their way into our lives. Therefore, I give thanks to all mothers for setting the standard of what perfect love is supposed to be; and to my own mother, I say, te agradezco, Mamá, por todos los ejemplos de valor y firmeza que me regalaste—siempre fuiste y siempre serás mi primer amor y milagro.
Top Image: Courtesy of : Vecteezy
