The older I get, and the older my children get, the more I appreciate and love my mother. She was/is all those things you expect in a great mom. She’s caring, slow to anger, level-headed, a confidante, a supporter, a shoulder to cry on, a safe person to be silly with, and so much more.
Now, while she’s always been that person, I’ve had trouble seeing it at times. When I was a teenager, I just figured she was cruel and uncaring and I said some horrible things to her in fits of hormone-induced rage that I wish I could take back.
As a young adult, I thought she was intrusive and trying to “get in my business,” which I figured was none of hers.
While preparing for my wedding, I thought she was kind of controlling and pushy, and once I moved away with my new husband, I thought she was way too attached and needed to cut the umbilical cord already.
Then came May 20, 2003, when I had my first child and I started to see my mom through new, clearer lenses.
I was one of those unlucky moms who got post-partum depression in a serious way. At 25 years old, seemingly overnight, I traded my independent, capable, strong and determined self for someone I didn’t recognize, someone who was terrified, confused and in need of her mother. She was there.
While healing and adjusting to my new reality, I needed my mom’s ear, her physical support, her advice and understanding and, from time to time, a little money for diapers. Mom delivered, despite being over 1,000 km away in Alberta.
As my first child grew, I started to understand just what the title of mom actually comes with – the surrender of your body and will to the demands of another, sleepless days and nights, sore everything, foggy brain, crying fits (from mother and child), strained relationships, and more than this column space allows me to write about comes with that tiny three-letter title.
I now have two children, turning 10 and 14 this month, and every year I understand more what my mother did for me.
How she held her tongue when she had every right to lecture. How she pushed aside her emotions to tend to mine. How she sacrificed so I wouldn’t have to. How she wore her knees out praying for my safety. How she silently wept behind closed doors for the poor choices I made that I had to experience to learn from.
Before I experienced various stages of motherhood myself, I didn’t realize all the hard work and heart-work my mother put into raising me, and I’m sure I’ll have greater insight when my kids head off to college or start families of their own.
So this Mother’s Day, with a little insight under my belt, I’d like to say “thank you Mom, I get it now” and I hope one day my kids can look back and say the same.
