The topic for today is Mothers. I feel qualified to write about this subject as I have had one, and I am one. There are many kinds of mothers in the Motherhood spectrum. There is one end of the spectrum where mothers try to micromanage and hover; then there is the opposite end of the spectrum- the kind of mothers that bring you into the world, then leave you to try to figure life out on your own. Most mothers fall somewhere in the middle of this range.
My mother in law is the micromanaging type. When my husband was a baby she would strap him into his bed at night, just to make sure that he didn't fall out during the night. She even sewed his baby clothes- including pockets in his little outfits. I'm sure at the time he didn't know what they were for, and probably couldn't even find them if he had wanted to. She felt that doing these things were physical proof that she loved and cared for him, she was trying to be a good mother. I'm sure that this sense of care and concern helped my husband to become the loving and compassionate man he is today.
Then there it the other end of this spectrum. I am thinking about a mother/daughter relationship that I have been witnessing for about five months now. The mother left the daughter when she was about 9 years old, and has just recently tried to come back into her child's life and become her mother again. She has failed miserably. In the ensuing eight years that the mom was gone the daughter learned how to do for herself, without her mother's guidance. I feel badly for this woman, I really ache for her. She has muffed the one pure relationship that God gives us on this Earth, and I'm not sure how she is going to ever fix it.
Then there is the topic of my own mother. I think that she falls somewhere in the middle of the 'mothering' spectrum. I honestly don't recall just climbing into my mother's lap to be held. And my mother never read a book to me at night. We didn't spend a lot of time just hanging around together because my mother wasn't a 'stay at home mom'- she had to work to put food on the table for her family. My mother was a secretary, and a damned fine one, at that. She probably knew more about her chosen field than most of the engineers she worked for. She took great pride in what she did.
My mother passed away on June 18, 1999 at approximately 10:10 pm. I had driven my family 4 days to reach her; she waited until all three of her children were with her to pass away, and even though she was in a coma she knew when we were there with her. After she passed from this Earth I kissed her forehead, then my brothers and I prayed over her and toasted her life. I miss her every single day.
But this is not to say that she and I didn't have problems. We certainly did. I had been summarily dismissed from the family home when I was 15, as I look back on that time it seems like I was 'in the way'; sending me to live with my stepfather's family was my mom' s solution to this problem. That whole experience is an entirely different story, best left to another time. Let's just say that when it happened it seemed as if my unspoken prayers had been answered- I was certainly experiencing the usual teenage angst that most kids go through- I hated my parents and couldn't even bear to be in the same room with them. So, not having to live with them seemed like a great idea at the time. After I moved, time passed and I grew used to the idea of being in the unusual situation of not living in my own home with my mother and brothers. I coped and learned to move on.
It was only after I had my first child that I realized what my mother had done. She really had chosen my stepfather over me, and I became extremely angry with her. I knew, as I held my firstborn in my arms, that I would move Heaven and Earth for him. It seemed like having him with me for eighteen years wasn't going to be nearly long enough before I had to let him move out into the world. How could my own mother have let me go when I was so young? It was a painful realization for me to come to. I couldn't help but let this anger cloud our relationship- surely there were positive lessons to be learned from my mother. It would take me a long while to figure out what they were. I never asked my mother to explain why she did the things she did, and now it's too late.
So, now I have decided that I love my mother enough to forgive her for her shortcomings. I decided that I needed to figure out what lessons she did impart to me and this is what I came up with; I learned to never quit. My mom would see a thing through to the end and wanted me to, as well. She also taught me to live with style and wit, humor was a big part of her life, and it is for me, too. She also taught me to do my best whenever I am faced with a task. It was important to her to do something well, and it's important to me, too. I have also decided that my mother loved me to the best of her ability. Was it what I needed while I was growing up? Probably not. But she still did her best, like she always taught me to do. I know for a fact that she certainly didn't hate me, and did not want to cause me harm. Almost every mother on the face of the Earth feels this way.
So, does the fact that my mother didn't sew pockets into my baby clothes mean that I should hate her? Does the fact that my mother made me grow up when I was 15 mean that she was evil? Does it mean that I am lacking in the 'mothering' department myself? I don't think so. The examples we see in our mothers actions are usually good lessons in HOW to be a mother or parent; both what we want to emulate, and what we don't want to ever become. Hopefully we can face the task of being mothers with an open mind, and in the process become the best that we can be. It's really all a mother could ever want.
My mother in law is the micromanaging type. When my husband was a baby she would strap him into his bed at night, just to make sure that he didn't fall out during the night. She even sewed his baby clothes- including pockets in his little outfits. I'm sure at the time he didn't know what they were for, and probably couldn't even find them if he had wanted to. She felt that doing these things were physical proof that she loved and cared for him, she was trying to be a good mother. I'm sure that this sense of care and concern helped my husband to become the loving and compassionate man he is today.
Then there it the other end of this spectrum. I am thinking about a mother/daughter relationship that I have been witnessing for about five months now. The mother left the daughter when she was about 9 years old, and has just recently tried to come back into her child's life and become her mother again. She has failed miserably. In the ensuing eight years that the mom was gone the daughter learned how to do for herself, without her mother's guidance. I feel badly for this woman, I really ache for her. She has muffed the one pure relationship that God gives us on this Earth, and I'm not sure how she is going to ever fix it.
Then there is the topic of my own mother. I think that she falls somewhere in the middle of the 'mothering' spectrum. I honestly don't recall just climbing into my mother's lap to be held. And my mother never read a book to me at night. We didn't spend a lot of time just hanging around together because my mother wasn't a 'stay at home mom'- she had to work to put food on the table for her family. My mother was a secretary, and a damned fine one, at that. She probably knew more about her chosen field than most of the engineers she worked for. She took great pride in what she did.
My mother passed away on June 18, 1999 at approximately 10:10 pm. I had driven my family 4 days to reach her; she waited until all three of her children were with her to pass away, and even though she was in a coma she knew when we were there with her. After she passed from this Earth I kissed her forehead, then my brothers and I prayed over her and toasted her life. I miss her every single day.
But this is not to say that she and I didn't have problems. We certainly did. I had been summarily dismissed from the family home when I was 15, as I look back on that time it seems like I was 'in the way'; sending me to live with my stepfather's family was my mom' s solution to this problem. That whole experience is an entirely different story, best left to another time. Let's just say that when it happened it seemed as if my unspoken prayers had been answered- I was certainly experiencing the usual teenage angst that most kids go through- I hated my parents and couldn't even bear to be in the same room with them. So, not having to live with them seemed like a great idea at the time. After I moved, time passed and I grew used to the idea of being in the unusual situation of not living in my own home with my mother and brothers. I coped and learned to move on.
It was only after I had my first child that I realized what my mother had done. She really had chosen my stepfather over me, and I became extremely angry with her. I knew, as I held my firstborn in my arms, that I would move Heaven and Earth for him. It seemed like having him with me for eighteen years wasn't going to be nearly long enough before I had to let him move out into the world. How could my own mother have let me go when I was so young? It was a painful realization for me to come to. I couldn't help but let this anger cloud our relationship- surely there were positive lessons to be learned from my mother. It would take me a long while to figure out what they were. I never asked my mother to explain why she did the things she did, and now it's too late.
So, now I have decided that I love my mother enough to forgive her for her shortcomings. I decided that I needed to figure out what lessons she did impart to me and this is what I came up with; I learned to never quit. My mom would see a thing through to the end and wanted me to, as well. She also taught me to live with style and wit, humor was a big part of her life, and it is for me, too. She also taught me to do my best whenever I am faced with a task. It was important to her to do something well, and it's important to me, too. I have also decided that my mother loved me to the best of her ability. Was it what I needed while I was growing up? Probably not. But she still did her best, like she always taught me to do. I know for a fact that she certainly didn't hate me, and did not want to cause me harm. Almost every mother on the face of the Earth feels this way.
So, does the fact that my mother didn't sew pockets into my baby clothes mean that I should hate her? Does the fact that my mother made me grow up when I was 15 mean that she was evil? Does it mean that I am lacking in the 'mothering' department myself? I don't think so. The examples we see in our mothers actions are usually good lessons in HOW to be a mother or parent; both what we want to emulate, and what we don't want to ever become. Hopefully we can face the task of being mothers with an open mind, and in the process become the best that we can be. It's really all a mother could ever want.
