Another Mother’s Day here and gone.
Like many of you, I rejoiced in my motherhood. I breathed in deeply the scent of each of my boys. That familiar scent of cheerios mixed with sweat and a little of something sticky that is ever unidentifiable. We spent the day playing in the sun and basking in God and man’s creation at the Biltmore, an Asheville icon. It was my first time and it did not disappoint.
Yet with all of the splendor and the beauty of my day as I soaked up the love of my children and my husband who were in my company, my heart was yet tinged with disappointment for those who weren’t.
Like a cloud playing peek-a-boo with the sun, not diminishing the warmth and beauty while it was out but sometimes covering it. Bringing a shade and coolness to my heart, with each turn it took. And then in an instant one of my boys would smile or the sweet scent of blooming jasmine would rise near me and the sun would return to my soul.
And so it went as the day continued, the sun and shade playing peek-a-boo in my heart.
For, as I gave all of my present self to the moments of motherhood yesterday, I was keenly aware that there was a piece of myself not present and not able to give.
For I too have a mother.
And she is far away.
And I feel it. The weight of the distance.
And perhaps it is days and moments like these that I miss her most. When the rest of the world seems to be recognizing and celebrating one another–together, I am reminded that two phone calls to my mom will just have to do. When innocent and unrelated comments made by others who are rejoicing in the presence of their loved ones sting my heart, guilt quickly makes that wound swell.
For I am the one that left, not her.
She’s never left my “side” and she never will. She has ever been my mother, supporting each decision no matter the cost to her. I suspect her decisions to support me over the years have been as tough for her as they have been for me to make. That’s the thing about tough decisions– they’re not easy. And passing time does not make them any easier.
I look around to the many young mothers I know and I see many, most actually within my sphere, who are far away from their own mothers. For reasons perhaps as varied as the individuals themselves, they’ve started lives in a new place. Carving out a new path in their family history. Facing motherhood without the regular presence and wisdom of their own mothers. I wonder how many of them struggled yesterday as I did?
Perhaps the complexity of leaving home cannot really be understood until you’ve experienced it, on either side of the fence. And I imagine that one day, I will be sitting in my mother’s shoes. With children grown and far away. I can only hope to handle it with as much tender love, grace and support as she has.
Happy (belated) Mother’s Day Momma.
Blooming And Becoming 