Mothers Day

 

Here it is, early Mothers Day morning and the day ahead seems to be all about everything other than mothers and children.  I think.

My own mother died in 1987.  She was quite a woman, my mother.  Love her or hate her, she was a force to be reckoned with and the reckoning continues to this day.  Not all day, everyday, mind you.  Recently, the days of reckoning seem to be fewer than in the past.  I consider that a good thing.  And, about time too!  While not everything she taught me was wrong, bad, limiting, there was a great deal she instilled in me that came from fear, resulted in fear and were founded in some very old fashioned ideas about who and what a woman is or should be.  I strongly believe my mother didn’t like women and wasn’t happy to be one.  Consequently, my own acceptance of gender has been something of a struggle most of the time. 

One of the greatest gifts of being female is the ability to gestate and birth brand new human beings.  To my knowledge, science still hasn’t perfected a way for males to do that, yet.  I’ve done it twice myself and believe myself lucky to have contributed to the world two compassionate, intellectual, fallible, lovable human beings.  Of everything I have done in my life, nothing surpasses the joy I still feel having been part of the process of life celebrating itself, twice!  I love the people they have become and continue to become each day.  While there have been sorrows and frustrations involved, nothing over shadows the joy of knowing that they thrive.  And the wonder of it all, to me, is that I was a part of it.  I wonder if other mothers think or feel the same way.  Not pride or ownership, awe!  Joyous wonder that I was allowed to experience the process of bringing a complete new human being into the world.  They are no longer new at this point.  And yet, the joy remains.  Am I wishing myself Happy Mothers Day here?  It seems so.

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