We all want to be magical and, in our mothers’ eyes, we are. They hold the same magic for us with kisses that heal booboos and a knack for preparing the perfect meal or surprise to cheer us up. They know our secrets before we do and care for us unconditionally. At some point, those roles reverse and we show our gratitude by caring for them with that same tenderness and love that brightened our childhood.
My mother and I transitioned to that stage after she had a fall last year. My whole life she was the personification of energy. She ran marathons on the weekend, took on part time jobs to supplement our family’s income, and kept our house so immaculate that people often asked which maid service she employed. Now she can barely hobble from her bed to the recliner she likes to hold court from.
As I assisted her in making that short trek one morning, she burst into tears as she thanked me for being so kind to her. I hugged her and gently lowered her into her chair while assuring her that of my gratitude for having the chance to care for her as she always cared for me.
She grabbed my hand as I finished, clutching it to her heart. “Oh, darling, there is so much I need to tell you. There are things you need to know to truly know who you are.”
“I’m your daughter.” I smiled and patted her hand with my free one, trying to gently disengage the one she held so I could get her water.
She gripped my hand tighter. “Darling, you have to listen. You have to know what a blessing you have always been to me. When I am gone, someone might tell you otherwise, so I need you to hear me out.”
I stopped trying to release my hand and knelt beside her, so I could look into her face. “What do you mean?”
“You know that you are your father and I’s only child?” When I nodded, she continued. “We tried for years to have a child. We couldn’t even get pregnant. The doctors all told us that we were young and fertile and healthy and a child would come in due time. As we got older, they changed their advice. They suggested we enjoy the freedom of not having children or that we consider adopting or fostering a child.”
“I know, mother.” She had told me all of this many times before, that I was her miracle.
“What I never told you,” she continued, “is that I decided to seek alternative therapies.”
“IVF?” I nodded understandingly.
“That wasn’t really an option for us, dear. I turned to something much more alternative than that.” She curled her fingers into a fist and slowly raised it to her lips as if she would begin to weep. “I had a friend who had started a coven. I thought it was silliness until I had longed for you so long and still had empty arms.”
I gasped. “You’re joking.”
“Shh. Just listen, please. I am too embarrassed to say this as it is. So my friend and her coven performed a fertility ritual. And nine months later, I was blessed with you. But my friend warned me that some of my life force would be taken away and given to you. According to her, I wouldn’t live to see the age I am now. In fact, I shouldn’t have seen your graduation…” Her words trailed off as she scanned my face carefully.
“Mom, if this is your way of encouraging me to get married and make grandchildren for you to spoil, I don’t have any good prospects.” I laughed nervously.
“Darling, I am not joking. I really am grateful for you. I honestly think it is your love that has kept me alive.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Your love brought me to life, so I suppose it is only fair.”
“You really are a miracle. I love you, my daughter.”
“And I love you. When I do get the chance to be a mother, I hope I am as good at it as you.”
She wept. I wept with her.
~This is the weekend when many celebrate mothers, particularly those from a small town in West Virginia called Grafton, where Anna Jarvis advocated celebrating mothers because she loved and honored her mother Anna Reeves Jarvis. I think is is important to also celebrate those who act as mothers even when they aren’t blessed with children of their own. I have seen so many wonderful women struggle with infertility and the stigma that sometimes accompanies being childless in a church that emphasizes the importance of families. For all those women who are mothers and grandmothers, those who would be mothers if they could, and those who aren’t mothers but are loving and supportive aunts and friends, Happy Mothers Day to each and every one of you.~
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