Every year when Mother's Day rolls around I'm filled with gratitude. This year, my thoughts were mixed. Feelings of joy and of being profoundly grateful for the family with whom I've been gifted mingled with the sadness of my husband's Mom not being around this year to celebrate her own Mom-ness. I knew (because each year when Father's Day makes its appearance on the calendar I experience a twinge of sorrow over my own Dad not being here to honor) that this year would be especially difficult for him. I felt focused on making the day happy and fun for all of us, making the whole weekend happier for us all. Indeed, it was wonderful, though, of course, not because of anything I did especially. The weekend just came together well; friends invited us out to dinner, my husband had the spontaneous idea on Friday night of driving down to Fort Lauderdale Beach for dinner, which opened the door to lots of fun and laughs. Sunday we had a little time on our own, a rare treasure these days, and went to see Dark Shadows and then, well, the rest is private husband and wife type stuff.
Anyway, Sunday morning, I heard Sparkle Fairy and the Hubs whispering in the bedroom as I sat at the kitchen table, bedraggled and sipping the day's first blessed slurp of coffee. Casting a bleary eye toward the hallway, I saw her making her way to the kitchen, a sweet, secretive smile turning up the corners of her mouth, with Daddy close behind. In her hand was a small bag, which she proudly presented to me as she kissed me and wished me a happy Mother's Day. Tucked inside the bag was a large coffee mug from Dave & Buster's. She'd bought it for me with points she won there during a recent trip with her Dad. I was touched that she'd thought of me, that she'd used her precious tickets to buy me something for this special day, this day that she makes so special just by being here. I always thank her on Mother's Day, because without her I wouldn't be a Mom, wouldn't know the amazing feeling fulfillment that parenthood brings to those of us with a heart for embarking on the journey. Here the Sparkle Girl is giving me a gift, when I feel like I should be giving her something for presenting me every day with the indescribable joy of gazing upon her face every morning as she lays sleeping. She nudges me to keep searching through the bag, and I pull out a small box. Opening it, I find a little silver owl nestled into a bed of tissue paper, a new charm for the bracelet the Hubs started for me a couple of years back. Owls have a special meaning for us: his Mom collected owls, and we inherited a large part of her collection when she passed over. He explains in a soft voice how he felt like this was the perfect Mother's Day gift, how it made him think of life continuing through our daugther, even though his own Mother is gone. Again, my heart wells, filled with the joy of the moment, with this wonderful way he thought to show his love for all of us and heal just a little bit more himself.
Being a Mom has shaped me, changed me, shifted my focus with regard to what is truly important in life. Raising our daughter is teaching me, on a very intimate level, just how quickly time passes, and just how vitally important it is to savor every little moment, to live fully in each experience we share with our families, our friends, and in the activities we cherish. It's helped me to be more aware of the world "out there" that needs our help, that I should be more active in helping to heal the earth and her inhabitants, that my responsibility extends far beyond the reaches of my own threshold.
In a word, being a Mom, to me, means, well--- everything.
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