Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Naturally I have thoughts on the subject. My own mother died more than thirty years ago, so it’s been a long time since I experienced a mother’s love, a mother’s pride, a mother’s confidence. Wendy’s answer to Peter Pan makes all of us want to be with our mothers, and of course I miss that.
For me, Mother’s Day is more about being that source of support for my children than being recognized as anyone special. Their loving attention all year long is more than enough. I admire my sons. I believe in their potential. I am proud of their accomplishments. I adore the men they’ve become. By extension, I immerse myself in their children and spouses.
I hope to remembered for the good in my life, but its success is measured by the fruit of my labors, my family. Are my children God-fearing? Honest? Productive yet kind? That barometer of success keeps me ever on my toes. My life’s work remains unfinished.
Motherhood is not about conception, because many women serve as mother figures for those around them. It’s about giving that service day in and day out to the God-appointed loved ones who cross our paths. That’s why I’m preparing a feast for my family on Mother’s Day, my day to love on all the kiddos large and small who will be coming home. My slide show somehow leaves out a few munchkins, but the picture depicts the fun we enjoy. Alma, I’ll miss you dreadfully . Rest in peace, my Tall Man. You still occupy a lot of real estate in my heart.