It's Mothers' Day, that annual celebration of all things maternal and, for many, that one day of the year in which we try to live up to being (and/or make up for not being) the son or daughter that we can and should be. And yet, we are comforted by the reality that, for most of us, our moms - some of whom gave us life and others of whom helped to 'raise us right' - will still be (forgiving and) proud.
Mothers' Day is always a bit of a challenge for me now, especially since my own mother passed on almost two decades ago. Mainly it's faintly painful because of the regret that it brings back to my consciousness: I regret that my mother did not live to see me enter adulthood fully and, most importantly, to meet her three diversely-gifted, crazy and wonderful (now teenage) grandchildren. So, knowing, loving and honoring her in remembrance as I do, I am left to smile as I am sure that she would at observing what her love and my attempts to live up to it have wrought: we are an unusual bunch, to be sure, but I am sure that she would revel in her family, a reflection of her love that will echo eternally through and beyond us....
And I am also reminded of regret in another way: on this day in particular, I am anguished by my numerous failures to be the son that I could and should have been while my mother was alive. Other days of the year, I remember the delight that I often engendered in her and the love that both protected me from the world and inspired me to seek to make my way in it that I received from her. (To this day, I'm convinced that the truism is indeed true: there's nothing as unconditional as a mother's love.) And I continue to be grateful for her love as it lives on in and through me long after she left me/us/this world physically (and too soon, to be sure). But on Mothers' Day - which, in a personal sense, is Mother's Day - I am more reminded for some reason(s) of those times that I disappointed her.
Like the only time that I remember her ever reprimanding me physically, when, as a somewhat cynical teenager, I suggested to her that her much beloved pastor was a "hell raiser" because of my disdain for his fire and brimstone oratorical style. No, the slap wasn't very painful, but the shock was. To this day, I remember the horror of feeling so disappointed in myself that I would be so unkind to my mother that she was moved to reproach me so viscerally. (I also remember the look of horror in her eyes that bespoke of the regret for her appropriate but reactive action.) Though I believe that we should carry few regrets in life - after all, who of us can change the past? - I do wish I could get a 'do-over' for this unfortunate mistake.
Or the time about a decade later that I didn't call her for Mothers' Day until late that night. I had been helping a friend move into a new home and - in the era before ubiquitous cell phones - had made the decision to wait until I returned home to call her. (To make a long story short, I knew that the delivery of her gift had been delayed but didn't realize that my friend's move would prove to be much more involved, take much longer than expected and, nor that, since my friend didn't yet have phone service, I wouldn't have the opportunity to call during what turned out to be the day-long endeavor.) When I did reach out to her - at approximately ten o'clock at night, a time that was normally at or just past her bedtime - she was hurt and disappointed and let me know it. She wasn't harsh, just candidly honest, bluntness that I had probably never experienced as fully with her until then ... and I'm still ashamed almost three decades later that I hadn't prioritized her better. The only good news to come from this was that I learned my lesson after this sole mistake: never again did I fail to get her gift to her in a timely fashion nor did I miss another morning opportunity to help her start her special day feeling as treasured as she was then (and is now).
Thankfully I have a few positive Mothers' Day experiences to salve the continuing psychic wounds of my missteps:
Like the time when - sometime in the period between ages 6 and 8 - my father gave me a little money and told me to get my mother a gift for Mothers' Day. I was really proud of what I picked out - some sort of cosmetic thing - a case, perhaps? - as I remember it - and the thing that makes me chuckle now is the irony inherent in the situation: if my memory is correct - and I admit that it may not be, this having been more than four decades ago now - I think that it was my mother who took me to J.L. Hudson's department store to buy her gift. (Every day, as I am reminded of this and so many other examples, I thank God that my mother invested so much time and energy in developing me in my youth, especially teaching me what being a gentleman truly means as well as how to rise above my father's example of a rather casual approach to such recognition, et. al., opportunities.)
Or the time that I drove home to surprise her for Mothers' Day. She really appreciated this as it was during my freshman year of college and it was to have been our first Mothers' Day apart. I couldn't get many things by my mom, but this was one mutually delightful and successful example.
So, as I reflect on these memories and moments, the reality that I miss my mother's loving presence makes itself known more painfully than I'd like to admit. Almost twenty years later, I still miss my mother, her warm and welcoming presence and her inspirationally unconditional love.
So I cloak and salve this ache by focusing my own children on honoring their mother today (a situation that is a tad more complicated now that we are divorced). And I focus on passing on that legacy that I learned so many years ago from their paternal grandmother: that though I think of her and try to make her proud every day, on at least two days a year - her birthday and Mothers' Day - I want to be sure that through whatever gestures and representations of love, she knows just how much she has meant, means and will mean to me throughout my life. I have endeavored to achieve this during the remaining decade of her physical life (after that horrible 'missed Mothers' Day' incident) and ever since. I would like to believe that her spirit knows and is buoyed by this even now ... and even more gratified by knowing that her grandchildren are being raised to be thoughtful, honorable and contributory people, too.
In this spirit, then, I wish you all a Happy Mothers' Day and hope that, in addition to recognizing her today, you, too, find every day's effort to make mom proud as rewarding a gift of love as the countless ones with which she has gifted you....
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