By Samantha McKenzie
I’ve called my mother a thousand times over the course of my adult life and she can always tell when something is wrong. I don’t really know how, she just does. Her words are always exactly what I need. And her prayers for me always follow.
When I became a mother, I felt this indescribable feeling of love. It was unique and natural and amazingly sweet. I became better because of it. I gained some patience and I paid attention to my intuitive side. My son, then and now, still thinks I have super powers. My daughters, on the other hand, know it’s our gift.
We all have similar stories about our mothers and their uncanny sixth sense, or third eye, that has saved us on many occasions. As I scrolled the internet this weekend, I read about amazing mothers who loved unconditionally and who sacrificed their all just to take care of their children. I saw pictures of families who celebrated the moms that are still living – and those who had passed away and their love that lived on. I listened to their stories. And although everyone had a different upbringing, they all had one thing in common: an undying love for their mothers.
Motherhood is best translated into a feeling. It’s more like an enigma. You can’t really settle on a single definition because it shows up in so many ways. It’s made up of hugs and kisses, potty training and backyard races. It comes disassembled with bedtime stories and tying shoe laces, and making freeze pops and detangling hair in time for picture day. It’s also made up of scoldings, and timeouts, blank stares and spankings and really, really, did I say really long lectures about sharing, and whining, praying and waiting your turn.
I realize too that mothers come in all shapes and sizes. There are birth mothers, and stepmothers, adopted mothers and grandmothers. There are fathers who are mothers and sisters and brothers too. Don’t forget about the foster mothers and those neighbors who had to become mothers for you. There were people who stepped in the gap to mother us all.
My 11-year-old wrote in my card yesterday. “Thank you so much for being my mom and feeding, clothing, birthing and loving me. You’re the best mom ever (even when you have your mood swings). Love ya.” (-_-)
I wouldn’t change a word nor the privilege of this journey.
To the everyday mother’s day celebrations, I’m left to just say,
She is love, personified.
She is unconditional.
She is sacrifice, in the flesh.
She is blessed.
Happy Mother’s Day.