Facebook posting: Happy Mother's Day momma! Now if we could just get all these lesser moms to stop thinking today is about them too.
>We lesser moms know who we are. The ones who didn’t have five healthy tall creative brilliant sons. The ones who waited and waited and waited to have babies; the ones who adopted and were rejected; the ones whose first-born was diagnosed with an incurable kidney disease that changed life’s coarse; the ones who had babies with birth defects and life-long challenges who wishes to have never been born; the ones whose lives took unexpected swerves and turns—oh wait! Maybe that’s you too.
A funny thing happened. You were never signed up for lessons, joined any teams, extracurricular activities, music; Scouts; you ate Ramen with your hands sitting on the floor; fast foods; no fresh garden vegetables for you. You never had responsibilities in the yard or house. Have you ever mowed a lawn? Done a dish? Were you encouraged to exercise? About the only thing you ever did as a family was Paint Ball Wars. War games of every sort and weapons were big. Maybe the secret is that you were loved by a Mother Grizzly who fiercely protected you and accepted you as you were with no unreasonable expectations. Maybe you think your mom is the greatest because she let you develop and grow into who you wanted to develop and grow into. Is it the unconditional love that does it? I thought it was music lessons, Little League, responsibilities, training, opportunities, travel, family vacations, family home evening and, yes, truly love unfeigned. I was wrong. But what do you expect from a lesser mom?
INCOMPLETE THOUGHTS ON MOTHER’S DAY 2011
May 8, 2011
A beautiful bouquet came.
“Happy Mother’s Day”
No signature.
My first thought, of course, was
Jeanne, our estranged daughter,
Whom we haven’t heard from in 20 years.
Or Amy, our moved-back-home daughter, in a career crisis;
Off on a camping trip.
I don’t fault her. I’m glad she goes.
Maybe Ed, our special needs son, who complains
When expected to do a few menial chores.
His dad wouldn’t have helped him order flowers
From the Flower Patch.
He would have picked them from the yard.
The tulips and daffodils are exquisite now.
Brooke & Elizabeth? No.
Perhaps they’ll drop by later.
Of course, it has to be from Brent and Jan
The only ones who live far enough away
To still love us.
****
How can I sit and calmly file my fingernails on Mother’s Day morn
When I have so blatantly messed up my life’s calling?
Now sitting at the table enjoying fajitas – eggs, peppers, bean sprouts, onions –
Prepared by my husband
And watermelon – already!
I’m rich.
A bouquet of fresh flowers in the center of the table;
Baby roses, red roses, plus an array of multihued blooms and baby breath
From Brent, Jan, and family,
Who called at 6:30 this morn to wish me a happy day.
But I digress.
Mother’s Day honors great moms.
Mother’s Day should pay tribute to failed moms.
Moms who faced unusual challenges and failed.
I have had the opportunity to fail in so many ways;
being the mother of an adopted daughter;
a handicapped son;
a son who ran head-on into an incurable kidney disease
when barely 19 years old.
No need to enumerate;
The bottom line is
I failed them all.
A poem of compassion:
When I Read Shambhala Sun
or Tricycle, I wonder
who these people are.
They admit to an occasional
random thought,
but it’s clear they’re all becoming enlightened
or at least able to dwell constantly
in clear and empty space.
Or those Yoga Journal people –
Where everyone is thin, composed
and bends in all directions.
Or Fortune
where everyone’s a millionaire
a captain of success.
So where, I ask, is the
magazine for Failure?
For 30 years of falling and
recalling, “Be Here Now”?
For the continual recovering
from the storming –
from the endless repairing of the ship
and broken sails?
For the sick and heavy body
barely bending?
For the immense gratitude
in meeting once again
next months payroll,
next months rent.
Perfect Bound
By Richard Wehrman
