Mother’s Day Musings

To Grandma Polly Sixty years ago, you were a young mother with a husband fighting a war in Germany you probably didn’t understand fully. Yet you bought a house and made a home. You read the letters he sent to you from countries you’d never see, places you could only imagine, and when he came home, you tied them up with ribbon and tucked them away in the footlocker he’d brought with him. And they stayed there, close to you and your heart, even after he passed away. You were strong, stronger than you thought, even though you probably didn’t realize it. You hated to admit that you were wrong and didn’t often. You taught me about strength and resiliency, because you always stood firm on what you believed. You fought to overcome after your first stroke, even though you couldn’t understand why this had happened to you. So today, in your honor, I wore that garnet ring he bought you in Germany, that you treasured and thought was so valuable, because while it wasn’t by the appraiser’s standards, it was in your heart. You always believed in me and are the only person who ever told me I took your breath away. Thank you for teaching me about strength of character and overcoming. Thank you for loving me. I miss you.

To Grandma Ruby: Six kids and little money, but somehow you made it work. I think it’s because you were never afraid of hard work. It wasn’t worth it to you if you didn’t have to labor to get it. You taught me that. You also taught me about constancy and faithfulness. You still wear that plain gold ring on your left hand, reminding you of the vow you made to my granddad, who passed away in 1976. There’s a faithfulness there that speaks volumes, even if you never said much about it. So thank you to the woman who taught me about hard work, constancy, and candor. When I looked in the mirror today and smoothed my hair, the same color as yours when you were young, I thought of you and the smile that used to crinkle up your eyes. I love you.

To Mom: It’s a good thing to have someone who believes in you more than you believe in yourself, and you’ve always been that to me. You didn’t know you were having twins; you didn’t know that there wouldn’t be a day you wouldn’t worry about us. But you loved us, even when we were wrong, unrepentant, and just plain stupid. You’re the woman who taught me about laughing at yourself, striving to better the things you don’t like in yourself, and serving God by serving others. You loved me even when I didn’t deserve it, which in turn, helped me to understand a little more of the way God loves me. Sometimes I’m impatient, just like you. Sometimes, I worry too much, just like you. Sometimes I think that I’m too much like you, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Thank you for loving me with abandon and no matter what. Thank you for modeling love in those long days with Grandma at the nursing home and that seemingly endless vigil at her side last August after that final stroke. Thank you for being the one who held my hand at her funeral and empowered me with your own strength once again, just like when I was little. Thank you for being the mom you are. The one who loves me still when I’m wrong, unrepentant, or just plain stupid—and not being afraid to tell me when I am. I looked at a picture of us today on my refrigerator, smiles almost alike. And I laughed and heard an echo of you in it. Thank you for teaching me about laughter, life, and depending on God. I joke that you can’t ever get the Mother of the Year award because you laughed at me when I was hyperventilating during that film about astronauts in Huntsville, but if anyone deserves it, you do. There I said it. You won’t hear it again. I love you.