She held her tongue too many times to count. She held her emotions in check as the mouth on that child dug a little deeper into the hurt planted in her heart. If only I could go back and ask her. If only I could go back and dig a little deeper into that heart to know that hurt a little better. To know her a little better. Not just her as my mother but her as a person.
She loved her family. I know this.
She loved her church family. I know this.
She loved flowers. I know this.
She loved coconut cake. I know this.
She loved the corner of a birthday cake with lots of icing. I know this.
She loved slathering bread with butter. I know this.
She loved making gifts of time for her family by crocheting. I know this.
I wonder how many of those stitches were cried in. I wonder how many were prayed in. I wonder how many were smiled in. Each stitch intertwined with thoughts of the one receiving the efforts of her time.
She loved having banana ice pops in the freezer for the next grandchild to walk through the door. She would offer and happily move to that freezer door to supply their wants. She would watch them devour even through brain freeze. She found delight in their delight.
She smiled and accepted each gift and card given. She knew the gift wasn’t in her hands but in her heart. She held those precious gifts in her heart through many joys and difficulties.
Her heart ached for the ache within the hearts of those she loved.
She was a mother for forty-six years. She was a grandmother for twenty-three years. She earned those credentials.
She lived the unspoken code of motherhood. Hers was to listen and offer words only when needed. Hers was to love unconditionally. Carrying the burdens of each child of hers in her heart the way only she could. Desiring the best for each one even when they would choose less than best for themselves on occasion. Sitting back, knowing heart-ache would come, allowing them to choose their own way. Desperately wanting to help them but knowing her help was not desired. Knowing her help was not necessarily what they needed. Experience is the best teacher.
As I sit to consider my mother, I consider my own motherhood. I realize she did the absolute best she could do. That is all I have done. She had no experience going into it. Neither did I.
It is like groping around in a dark unfamiliar space. Not quite sure where and when you will stump your toe. You will stump your toe! It hurts. Filling to overflowing with love for the little ones that coo and cry and giggle and pout and glow with joy and throw temper tantrums and grow and bring more little ones to start the cycle all over again.
Mothering is a scary, delightful, heart-wrenching, heart-filling roller-coaster ride. Breath-taking scenes unfold so quickly your mind cannot contain them all. And you have a front-row seat.
