I see my mother in her pajamas – out on the back porch relaxing on the glider underneath the kitchen window in the early of the morning. Looking out over the pink azalea bushes which hugged against the brick patio, looking out towards the still green lake and beyond, beyond all that quiet, to the place in her soul that was screaming so quietly that she could only hear it in those early moments of day.
I remember celebrating many a mother’s day outside, on that patio, my mother opening homemade cards and gifts, a recipe card holder made from a plastic yogurt flower pot with a plastic fork glued inside, with three excited and proud children watching intently in the warm spring light of the morning.
I remember us. Children getting dressed and ready for church in our fine white dresses and searching in the yard for red rose buds to pin onto our collars. Buds that shouted in tiny little voices, my mom is living and I love her.
I remember myself as a child, understanding early on, before words sprouted from my lips, that I had to be good for my mother. Wanting to please her, the desire to do what was asked of me – lived with me, lives with me all the time. As children we look to our mothers for constant guidance and approval, bending like blades of grass to rays of love that our mother the sun shines upon us.
Being a mother is such a big responsibility, an awesome post that no woman, or person, can ever really come to know, until they feel it for the first time as they hold the soul of a child in their womb, in their arms and in their heart. Later as our children grow we mother’s struggle to protect our children from pain, and yet, ironically we are the ones that cause our children’s first true heart ache, the pain of separation from us, their mother. It is the first, but not the final pain for which we will be responsible.
Over the many years of life, a child grows into an individual, into an adult. But the mother, who feels left behind and alone is still needed, wanted and desired, for that unconditional love and support which only she can give which helps us all get through the day, the week, the rough times ahead. We are always reaching towards the sun, towards our mothers who love us like no other.
—Deanna, in honor of her Mama