Because of You, Mother...

We can choose to remember the bad or we can recognize the good...

I did not come from a nurturing home. The majority of my memories involving my mother are not tender, loving or endearing. They are painful, hurtful and emotionally damaging. For many years the sting of these wounds stayed with me. For many years my judgement of her was harsh and unforgiving.

When I became a mother myself, I vowed that I would be nothing like her. From the moment I held my first baby in my arms, I put my whole heart into being the kind of mother I wish I’d had. As I traveled my own path of motherhood, I found myself less and less understanding of her. These feelings of love for my child were so powerful, it was difficult for me to understand why she didn't love me.

A few years later I found myself in a very difficult phase on my own path of motherhood. My 4 children were very young and their endless needs required all of my time and energy. At the end of my days I was exhausted and left with little strength. I felt much like a meager portion of butter being spread across a dry piece of bread. My stress level was high and my patience wore thin. There were many times that I became frustrated with my children and had to fight back the urge to angrily snap at them for doing childish things. But then I remembered my mother, and (not wanting to be like her) I tried my hardest to bite my tongue. Each time I felt that I couldn’t take the stress and the noise from all the crying, fussing, yelling and whining I remembered her. I vowed that I would not let myself become like her and I hit my own head against the wall instead of theirs. She was on my mind through it all.....keeping me from repeating her mistakes. And without condoning her, I grew to understand her.

In later years she sought my forgiveness for the things she did, stating “I did the best I could.” For a long time I felt that this was a lame excuse. But not anymore. After nearly 10 years of my own experiences as a mother, I have come to believe that she really did do the best she could. I do not condone her behavior, nor do I excuse it. But I nevertheless forgive her and have chosen to accept her and love her in my heart.

We are all imperfect as mothers, some more than others. We can choose to remember the bad things our mothers did or we can recognize the good. I may not have any tender moments or loving memories with my mother, but there is still a great deal of good that she did.
In recent months I’ve come to realize how much of what I do as a mother came from her influence and example. This is the good that she gave to me and on Mother's Day it is what I choose to celebrate.


For my Mother......

Because of you, I am a runner.
I remember seeing you many times as I rode the bus home from school. Through my window I’d spot you jogging along our old country road wearing your yellow polyester jogging suit with thin black stripes down the sides of the arms and legs.

Because of you, I read to my children.
When I was little I laid on your bed at nap time as you read me stories like Yurtle the Turtle, The Pickle Chiffon Pie and Petunia the Silly Goose. As I got older, you read books aloud as I sat behind you playing with your hair. The Hobbit, Amy’s Eyes and Tennis Shoes Among the Nephites were among my favorites.

Because of you, I cook healthy meals for my family.
Each morning at breakfast there was hot food on our plate. Eggs and oatmeal were not my favorite, but they are now. My lunch consisted of a whole wheat sandwich, an apple and a quarter for milk. You never gave me fruit roll-ups, potato chips or pudding cups. Just the basics my body needed for a foundation of good health. Each night you cooked our meals from scratch and made sure we had a meat, grain, and vegetable on our plate with a large glass of milk to wash it down.

Because of you, I read daily from the scriptures.
One of my earliest memories of the scriptures was seeing you read from the pages of your old, worn copy. The black leather was weathered, the pages were soft from being turned as you read intently, reverently and frequently.

Because of you, I volunteer at my kids school.
I was always so proud when you would come to volunteer in my class in elementary school. Many of the kids would tell me how pretty my Mom was and it made me so proud. Having you there made me popular among my friends. One time a kid was teasing me and another kid intervened and told them to leave me alone because “I had a cool mom.”

Because of you, my children take piano lessons.
We always had a piano in our home even though you couldn’t afford to pay for lessons. I learned by hearing you play and knew that when I became a mother my children would take piano lessons and learn to play as well.

Because of you, I decorate my home.
You sewed curtains, painted walls, stuffed pillows and hung flower boxes with red geraniums from the outside windows of our old farm home. On a limited budget you decorated our house and turned it into a home.

Because of you, I manage the money in our household.
How many times did I see you upstairs at that desk punching numbers into that silly adding machine amidst frequent groans as you balanced the checkbook. When I’m at my computer paying my bills online I remember you and smile.

Because of you, I am grateful for my dishwasher and dryer.
Countless times I saw you hanging clothes on the clothesline outside and upstairs in the hallway along the bannister rail. For years you washed dishes by hand in that old farmhouse sink cooped up in a tiny kitchen away from the rest of the house. Every load of laundry I throw in the dryer, and every dish I place in the dishwasher, I am grateful because I remember you.

Because of you, I am a Mother.
You never earned a college degree or held a full time job and yet when anyone asked you what you did, you never hung your head, but responded graciously and with pride, “I am a Mother.”
And now, I do too.