Mother’s Day – remembering and celebrating our mothers, not because they are or were perfect, but because they loved us.
Mother’s Day can be fraught with a multitude of emotions because of viewing our mothers through our hazy filters of what we think, as young children or adults, that maternal love should be. Filters of whether we felt loved by our mothers, however, are not the true north in honoring our mothers. Perhaps, if we only knew all that our mothers navigated through in their own lives, we might be in a better posture of gratefulness for all they DID manage to do for us throughout our lives.
All human love is imperfect. If we judge our mothers from the perspective of “these were the times she let me down”, then it will be difficult at best, for us to see the profound depth of devotion our moms have for us, their children.
As a young child, I watched my mother struggle with health issues which caused extreme fatigue. I was too young to discern that my mother’s listlessness had nothing to do with me but with her health. As a young adult I came to realize how even during her illness, she still managed to cook and clean and provide for her two children’s necessities. She didn’t always have the energy to be patient in caring for us, thus I misconstrued her lack of energy as a mother to a mom who was grumpy and without emotional depth. Years of childhood turned into adulthood, and I realized that my mother had sacrificed to profound levels to care for me and my brother in our formative years.
Only a few months away from being a mom myself, I had an unanticipated opportunity to live with my mom for two months. During our times of long chats, the childhood blinders fell off and I saw my mother in a new light. Her childhood had been one of very little maternal love and added to that was a stepfather’s abuse. She would flee her childhood home, marry my father, and begin her own journey of being a mother. While she had not grown up in a house of family devotion, she was determined to provide a home where her children would know what strong love looked and felt like. She was the one who introduced me and my brother to the world of board games. The one who chauffeured my brother and me around to all our childhood sports. The taxi driver who deposited us daily at the lake in the summer after she returned home from her half-day work. She sewed our clothes, and canned and froze the summer vegetables for the long winters. She cut up deer that our father would haul in after a successful day’s hunt and cared for our aging grandparents in their home and in ours. Life was mostly work for her, not the long indulgences in free time and play for her. She was a worker until nighttime, when she would go to bed, yet, before turning off the light, she relished her time – time to read.
When my mother grew older and spent more time with me as an adult, I understood that her love for her children was stronger than what I had ascribed to her. All of her “shortcomings” that I saw as a young girl were wiped away, and I saw love, deep love, sitting beside me now, having the long-heart conversations that I had wanted as a girl. Now her presence and words were like a deep draught of water.
My baby was born, but I was heading to my new home in Europe, leaving behind the tangibleness of my mother’s love. She would come every year for her grandson’s birthday, and my son and I would return every summer to be with her. A stroke and an onset of dementia would be the beginning of her slipping away from me slowly, yet in those years, we grew closer in our relationship as mother and daughter, until her dying day. I recall the words when she told me that she felt she hadn’t deserved her wonderful sons and daughter. She felt like we had turned out to be children that had surpassed her in so many ways and while she was proud of us, she felt like, “How did I achieve getting my children this far when I felt so deficient as a mother all my life?” My heart ached when she said these words. It was true, we had grown to be strong adults, but how could we have accomplished all that we had in our lives without the strength that she had poured into us? She was SO worthy to be our mom. And how deeply tender and sweet to affirm her great love for me as a mother in this conversation amidst hugs and prayers of blessings for each other. From that day forward, I saw my mother in a light that was rich with profound depth and beauty. She had given up so much of her own interests, and her very self in life to see me to adulthood. I knew I was rich, and I began to receive, yes, even when she was still alive, the legacy that she was bequeathing to me.
My mother has not been with me here on Earth for eight years now. Yet, her legacy continues to grace my heart, and I see the deposits of her in my life as I am now a mother of two. Looking back across time leads us to understand the love of a parent. All of us as children are indebted to our mothers who gave us life – even, if it’s all we have from her – we have the gift of a mother. And that is worth celebrating on Mother’s Day, whether she is here with us or not. Let us look for legacy from our mothers as we honor them for their great love for us.
The poem below was written 25 years ago for my mother when she was still alive. She cherished these words, and I cherish her memory on the special day of Mother’s Day and every day.
A POEM TO MY MOTHER ON THE OCCASION OF MOTHER’S DAY 2000
By Anna Dawn Custalow
Hands that offered love and tenderness
Hands that were nimble in cleaning and sewing
Hands that took care of me when I was sick
Your hands are what I think about, when I remember you.
Memories of playing games together on the floor
Allowing me to mother numerous kittens and cats over the years
Reading books out loud before bedtime hours
Ever ceaseless in chauffeuring to the lake on hot summer days
Encouraging me in practicing the piano, in singing, sports, and camp too
All the things you didn’t do yourself, but wanted so much for me
Your giving heart is what I think about, when I remember you.
Hot, humid summers – working in the garden side by side and watching you can
Icy winters – gobbling up mounded bowls of snow cream after a long day of sledding
Warm, welcome springs – watching your irises, roses, and forsythias burst into bloom
Chilly falls – eating spaghetti on Friday nights and hurrying off to football games
Your care for your family in every way is what I think about, when I remember you.
You have been all of our strength when we were weak
Holding us together as family when the bonds would have been so easy to break
Unselfishly giving to us all when our needs were great
You’ve always had a mother’s heart that embraced her responsibility
To be the one with the strong grip
You’ve served so faithfully in your role as a mother
I know your reward will be great
My love and respect for you only increases as we both age.
Nothing can replace a mother’s love.
Yours has always been there for me and has been one of the richest gifts of my life.
No daughter can repay the gift of a mother’s heart
All I can say is how very thankful I am that you were chosen to be mine…
And that I love you always.
These will be my thoughts forever, when I remember you.
Dawn Custalow is an EL educator and teaches students who do not speak English as their first language. She currently works at William Fleming high school in Roanoke. She enjoys writing as well as public speaking on themes of education, cultural training, and Virginia Indian history – both past and present. Dawn is an alum of VA Tech and an enrolled tribal member of the Mattaponi Indian reservation in West Point, Virginia.