On May 13th, we have the chance to celebrate someone who, for most of us, has been an ongoing hero and inspiration in our lives. She gave up more than we often ever understand. She saw us through our cutest and our most rebellious years, and she loved us just the same. That’s the way she is. So, let’s get things kicked off right: Thanks, Mom.
When I was younger, I resented and dreaded the possibility that I might be called a “Mama’s Boy.” I wanted to be a man. I may have only been 10 years old, but I was ready to strike out on my own, I told myself. I was a natural Tom Sawyer, in my own head.
Much to her credit, Mom did not squash this. She did not say, “Don’t climb that tree. It is dangerous.” She did not teach me to cower in the air conditioning. Quite the opposite, she set a timer on how long I could play video games before I had to get up and get out of the house.
She also drove me an hour into the city so that I could take part in local theatre productions. Many long nights were spent waiting for me. And for what? To see that her son got what he needed in order to pursue what he loved.
Many dreams and passions of her own had to be practiced in small pockets of time, or else completely ignored. I never knew this, of course. It is easy enough to say, as an adult now, that I would not have asked her to. Kids can be selfish, though, and I did not always ask what was being foregone in order for me to get what I wanted. Even if I had known, she would not have stood for me putting my own dreams aside.
She loved many things throughout my childhood: music, ice skating and helping others through physical therapy and personal support. First and foremost, though, she and Dad were parents to my brother and me. Even if we could not understand everything they did, the product of their never-ending work with us shines through.
One child became a happy husband, writer and actor. The other is also a joyful husband who chose the doctor’s path. When you get past the cliché of having an artist-type and doctor as brothers, there is something deeper to note. Both children found vastly different paths and have turned out equally successful and happy. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
The worst to bear was when Dad passed from this world. In this moment, Mom had to step up and take on an extra burden that should not have been hers to bear. That alone is admirable, but again, there is more.
Families often either bond closer or fall apart in the wake of tragedy. A sense of numbness and a lack of belonging takes you over for a time. People start to drift, and one day, they may well find they have drifted so far that they no longer remember where they came from.
I feel such gratitude in saying that ours was not a family that disintegrated. Even as we drifted personally, our focus turned to looking out for each other and catching one another before we had totally gone adrift. We continued to hold each other accountable, and we survived.
It has now been 11 ½ years since that time. Some wounds do not heal completely, but this much remains true: I was born to and raised by a family that knew what family meant.
I know I would not be here without her. Quite literally, none of us would be here without our mothers. Life is busy, but it should never be too busy for well-deserved gratitude.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. And thank you.
