To All the Moms
Yesterday was Mother’s Day here in the U.S. A quick glance at Wikipedia reveals that it began in the United States in 1908 in Grafton, West Virginia. Anna Jarvis held a memorial for her mother and then began to make it a nationally recognized holiday, which occurred in 1914. Other attempts had been made, of course, such as the one in the 1870’s by Julia Ward Howe. Yet, Jarvis claimed all the credit the article said.
However, she then grew disgusted with it, because as with everything, big business stepped in and took over. As Linus said about Christmas, Mother’s Day had become too commercial.
And it’s only become worse.
Around Valentine’s Day, the cheap people come out of the woodwork. “I don’t celebrate it, because love should be shown every day of the year.” This is usually said by people who don’t show it any day of the year and are just trying to sound noble. They just sound sad.
However, I have never heard anyone say they don’t celebrate Mother’s Day because they celebrate it every day of the year. The reason is that as children we know we don’t. To be honest, most children probably forgot to even call their mother yesterday and say, “I love you. Thank you.” We know we fail to show the proper appreciation for the years of sacrifice and nurture that they have given to us.
And they tell us.
“Fourteen hours I was in labor with you, screaming with sheer agony because you had such a fat head. I gave you life and you treat me this way! Can’t you at least take out the trash? Put your sister down!”
And we feel bad and shape up for an hour or two.
Yet, they have sacrificed for us, more than we would ever know because the real sacrifices they don’t want us to ever see. They don’t want us to know that they didn’t eat so that we could. We were so happy opening our opening our Christmas presents that we didn’t know there was nothing under the tree for them except the crappy looking craft we made them at school. We never paid attention to the fact that they wore the same clothes year after year because we were constantly outgrowing ours or ripping holes in them so that new ones had to be purchased. They did without, so that we didn’t have to.
And they never complained.
Furthermore, they were our biggest cheerleaders. They sat through choir concerts, band competition and science fairs. They struggled through our homework just as much as we did and hated the same teachers. They drove us to our friends and the skating rink and football games. They were the first ones to push us toward our dreams, encouraging us to stretch and grow.
They cried behind closed doors when those first romantic interests took our attention away from them and then cried with us when the one that they thought was a jerk anyway broke our hearts. Then that special one came along that they knew was going to take us away for good and they cried even harder while trying to love the future spouse that would add to their family.
Fathers tell us we’re stupid when we are. Mothers hug us and offer ice cream. The roles are the same, yet different. It’s good cop and bad cop, and as kids we know to talk to Mom first so she can tell Dad. Mother’s are quick with the Band-Aids for scraped knees and hurting hearts. They’re kisses are magical and can heal emotional pain.
And it never ends. Age doesn’t matter. Distance is never an issue. The love of a mother only grows deeper as we grow older. You can’t put an end to it no matter how bad you screw up. They may not agree with you, but they will always have your back. Everyone else may turn their back on you, but a mother never will. This is the ultimate in unconditional love because they don’t adore you for what you accomplish, the money you make; or even how obedient you are. They love you because you are their child, and for no other reason. And that should be celebrated every day of the year, because we are not always loveable. Yet, we won’t because we are busy and forgetful, so yes, this one day out of the year needs to be devoted to our mothers.
Don’t’ allow time to continue to slip away from you. We are not all promised tomorrow. And don’t think that a post on Facebook counts as intimate communication. Pick up the phone and call. Get in the car and drive over. Visit. Talk. Hug. Let your mother know you love her and how much you appreciate her. I promise, it’ll be the gift she remembers most.
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