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Lessons from My Mother on Motherhood
Reflecting on my childhood, I vividly recall my mother in the fall of 1983, standing under our apple tree, a rake in hand. “Here, take this and gather the leaves,” she instructed. Reluctantly, I began to work, kicking old apples behind the shed. “I’m ready for a garbage bag now,” I announced after a while. “Aren’t you going to jump in it first?” she teased.
Sundays were a special time, as my sisters and I piled into our old car, affectionately dubbed “The Bomb.” Its peeling ceiling and worn-out seats were a backdrop for our family adventures. If we could behave during church, mom treated us to a late breakfast at Roy Rogers, where the crunch of French toast sticks and her quiet sips from a paper coffee cup filled the air with warmth.
These memories replay in my mind like an old film, each year adding a layer of distortion. Did we truly go out for breakfast every week, or was it a rare treat? After three decades, the reliability of these recollections fades, yet their emotional weight remains.
My mother passed away when I was just 8 years old, while my sisters were 6 and 2. I believed I had come to terms with her death until I became a mother myself. Suddenly, grief resurfaced unexpectedly. During those long, sleepless nights with my newborn son, as I struggled to nurse him, I found myself yearning for my mother’s presence. “I don’t know how to do this,” I thought. “Someone should be here to guide me.”
While other mothers complained about outdated advice from their moms on sleep training or introducing solid foods, I turned to my memories, seeking wisdom to navigate the challenges of breastfeeding, teething, and the overwhelming shift in my identity.
One vivid memory stands out: a heated morning when I shouted, “I don’t love you! I hate you!” My mother’s response was calm yet firm: “Well, you’re making it pretty hard to love you right now too.” If I had only eight years to impart lessons as a parent, what would I share? My mother’s illness left little time for preparation; she fought cancer for just three months after diagnosis. Yet, unknowingly, she crafted a strong foundation for my sisters and me, supported by our loving father and a caring community.
As the years progressed, love and support surrounded me, but I still sought comfort in memories. By the time I was pregnant at 36, I thought I had exhausted all the lessons from my mother’s life. However, when my son began waking every night at 2 a.m. and crying until dawn, I felt overwhelmed. I was leaking milk onto my pajamas and felt utterly helpless. “I’m a failure,” I confessed to my husband, masking my true feelings of despair and regret about motherhood.
I remember declaring to my mother that I was “running away,” perhaps due to restrictions on my television time or a less-than-favorable dinner choice. While the specifics are hazy, I can still picture her kneeling beside me, tossing in shoes and pants. “What are you doing?” I asked. Her answer was simple: “I’m helping you pack.”
My mother embodies the reality of motherhood—not a perfect image of domesticity or a serene figure navigating chaos effortlessly. Instead, I see a woman who radiated beauty in her old car, who was playful and kind, yet also frustrated and tired.
Now, as a mother to my 2-year-old son, I have come to understand a critical lesson that my mother imparted: motherhood is unpredictable. There will be days when I feel like giving up, when fast food becomes a bribe, or when I struggle to embrace joy. Yet, all these experiences are normal. I remember her subtle smile as I dropped my rake and ran gleefully into a pile of leaves. She taught me that while I may not love every moment, I will cherish more of them than I can foresee, and these moments will pass quicker than I would expect.
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Summary
This reflection on motherhood illustrates how memories of a deceased parent can shape one’s parenting journey. The author recalls cherished moments with her mother, revealing that while motherhood is fraught with challenges and unpredictability, the love and wisdom imparted by one’s own mother can provide comfort and guidance.