Mothers Doubts

Published on Mothers Day 1995 Hanford Sentinel

My Love,

It has not been my habit in the past to give flowers or a card on Mother's Day to any other than my own mother. I've always felt that this was a day for sons and daughters to recognize their mothers, not a day for a husband to honor his wife. Maybe this year will be the exception to the rule, or perhaps I need to rethink my beliefs.

I expect this Mother's Day will be difficult for you, as it has been less than ten days since your only child, your only fledgling has left the nest to start her own life. In the moving and settling in a new life on the other side of the country, along with the carelessness of youth, I half expect she will forget to do more than make a quick collect phone call. I hope you don't mind if I say for her some of the things that she should say, and perhaps one day will. Nothing new, just some things you should already know in your heart.

You are, and have been, an excellent MOTHER, in all senses of the word. That encompasses so much more than one word can describe. It starts when your child is just born, just an infant, and her multitude of needs and wants are expressed in a language that has defied scientists and psychologists for centuries. This is your first stage of motherhood; you are "Mama." With absolutely no instructions, no real guidance, you quickly and correctly identified and handled each and everyone of her needs based on little more than a cry, grunt, chuckle gurgle or coo. Soon those needs were punctuated with the word, "mama." You were the center of her world, and she knew it. Mama was the source of love, warmth, comfort, entertainment, food, etc. All delivered with a smile and love despite the hour of the day or night.

As your child grew, so did her vocabulary and her mother. Soon you were promoted to the rank of "Mommy." No one understands fluent toddler better than Mommy. The child might have looked to daddy and asked, "Ooble awbly moomf umph?" Daddy would turn to Mommy and ask, "Hunh?" Unerringly you would respond, "She wants you to take her out for a walk." The child would nod happily, and Daddy could only look on in amazement. Along with the promotion to Mommy, your responsibilities had increased. Your child began a more complex stage of development, and without benefit of college level training you smoothly adapted and helped her develop the skills we all take for granted but must be taught to our young. You had or found the answers to all the questions she could think up, from "Does the trees moving make the wind blow," to "Why can't I have two puppies and a kitten?"

As she started school, it was you who helped her not only to take that first step out of your world and into a bigger world, but made her look forward to the trip. This you did despite your misgivings, fears and worries. When she returned home with stories of her teachers and new friends, those people who had begun to replace you as a major part of her world, you swallowed your fears, smiled, and spoke encouragingly. Each day as she got ready to head out to school, even as you felt your hold on her begin to diminish somewhat, you dressed her and sent her off with a smile.

Through the school years you continued to encourage, badger, and sometimes force her out into the world, even as you wanted hold her in and try to regain a little of that old "you and me kid" feeling the two of you used to share. When the world dealt her a rough hand or two, you were there to pick her up, dry her tears and help her go on. Some of the knocks life dealt were harder than others. It would have been easy to gloss over them and shrink back into your shell. Others might have, but not "Mom."

Mom. Your newest name. And what a name. Drawn out, it's a plea, a cry for mercy, understanding, love. With the right accents, it can be a curse, an insinuation that you know so little these days, that you could never understand what it's like to be 12, 13, 14, etc. After all, you're "Mom"; it's not like you were ever young or anything. How could you know anything about anything? This is the final stage, as your hold on her slips further and further, until one day you're standing at the bus station with a group of her friends, some that you perhaps dislike more than a little, holding back the tears as your baby, no longer a baby, heads out into the bright world and her own future. You've prepared her as best you can, but can it be enough? Could you done better? Doubts assail you, and you holdback the tears as best you can until she's out of sight, on her way into a world she's sure will welcome her and that you fear will reject her. For once, Mom, Mommy, Mama, Mother, is totally helpless. There's nothing more for you to do here.

So you go home and reflect. Or try to. My God, do you realize what you have done? You've taken a life that was totally helpless, that came without an instruction manual, and guided it to adulthood. Even a VCR comes with instructions. You have been a paramedic, nurse, doctor, teacher, magician, and when necessary, judge and jury. You fixed wounds and injuries often with little more than a kiss. You showed her how to walk, talk, dress and eat. You've been her tutor in all manner of subjects, from "new math" to science, manners to womanhood. You've swallowed enough pride and anger over her and for her to feed a herd of buffalo. (Thank goodness there's no calories in pride and anger!) You've sacrificed plans, time, hopes, money, and maybe a dream or two to bring her to this point. All at no cost to her, usually without her even suspecting, too often without a thank-you.

Self-doubts? You deserve better. Maybe you'll come to realize that you did the best you could, best anyone could do, maybe even better than most. Someday, I think she'll come to realize it, too. Have a cup of coffee, enjoy the flowers. You deserve more, but the award, the medal, the honor hasn't been made that can reward you for the job you've done. Let me give you this day, just for you. You've earned it.

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