"There's no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one."

--Dr. Seuss

I haven't blogged in a while.  

Tonight, I resume blogging with a post that I already feel will fall short of capturing what I intend to capture....in any case, here goes....

On November 10, 1972, my mom became a mother.  As a father, I witnessed the birth of my three children.  I was there.  I was mere feet away from the amazing Dr. Michael Wells when he cleaned my kids mouths out, and they cried, and he said "Roll Tide."  But I didn't birth them, so I only know indirectly what my mother went through on that Friday in late 1972 in Columbia General Hospital.  Sure, there were probably epidurals and such, but she did the work of birthing me, and she would do the same when Thomas and Jeremie came along....and she did it alone. 

On February 23, 1977, my father died on the quarter boat "Dan" in the Gulf of Mexico, a mile or so off the coast of Cameron, Louisiana.  When my mother got the news, she had two small boys at home.  She didn't even know yet that she was pregnant with my sister. But she picked out the suit dad was buried in, and the color of his casket, and probably even what kind of flower was pinned to the lapel of his jacket, and she buried my dad a few days later....and she did it alone.

In June 10, 1979, my mom lost her father.  My papa had a heart attack and died suddenly, long before anyone could have revived him.  My grandmother had a severe case of dementia, and probably Alzheimer's--I'm not sure if that was a diagnosed illness in 1979.  Mom, Thomas, Jeremie, and I lived across the street from my grandparents on Perry Street, and my parents were constants in our lives, but mom now had to bury another man in her life, and because of my granny's mental state....she did it alone.

My grandmother would die about 16 months later, leaving my mother by herself to raise three small children.  Just typing that sentence stopped me from writing for a moment...just an absolutely astounding feat...yet so many women do this....

My mother would go on to witness and endure so many things all on her own, and I don't say any of that to pity her, but rather to point out her strength and her courage.  

Just thinking back, a flood of things come to mind....

I wonder how she handled it when she had to go confront my first grade teacher over some remarks on report card by herself....alone.

I wonder how she handled it when she had to make lunches for us for school DAY AFTER DAY AFTER DAY AFTER DAY....alone.

I wonder if she worried if she could afford the first trumpet she bought me?  My mom worked part time when we were kids.  The downside was that even coupled with survivor benefits from Social Security, the part time work she did didn't generate tons of money, though we NEVER went without.  The upside was that mom was home every morning when we left for school, and she was home every afternoon when we got home.  Mom was just THERE.  And she did it alone.

I wonder how she got me to ball practice, and Cub Scouts, and Camp Wiregrass...or paid for it....alone?

I wonder what it was like to look after me in the hospital when I broke my arm, and there were two other kids at home to take care of also??

I wonder what it was like to worry about her teenagers when we got our respective driver licenses?

I wonder what it was like to have to handle every discipline situation on her own???

I wonder what it was like to get a few hours of peace in a hotel room when she would take us to Fort Walton Beach and we'd stay at the Greenwood Motel on Okaloosa Island....alone.

I wonder what it was like having to raise rebellious (me) teenagers...alone.

I wonder what it was like when she watched us each leave the house as adults....alone.

I wonder what it was like when she watched Thomas join the Army with no mate to talk to about this....alone.

I wonder what it was like for her to sit in the audience for my first band concert as the director of the middle school band and wish that my dad could see it....alone.

And I wonder what it's like to this day for her to enjoy her kids and her grandkids....alone.

And I wonder ABOUT EVERY OTHER FREAKING THING SHE DID....alone.

My mother, as far as I'm concerned, is 10 feet tall and bullet proof.  The truth, however, is that she's really just 5'10" tall.  And maybe bullet resistant.  

My mom's a tough woman.  She's been through a lot of pure hell on earth, and she stands tall amidst it all.  She isn't, however, the only one of her kind.  There are countless women just like her in this world.  I know many of them personally.  They walk through things that we don't even know about. Maybe we have seen inside their world a little bit, but I suspect that, just like the experience of birthing a child, we can never fully understand what it's like to be a mother unless we are one. 

Mom...I can never repay what you've done for me, and I know that you'd never want me to--that's the beautiful thing about good mothers--the selflessness with which they do all that they do.  But I thank you.  I thank you from the deepest parts of my soul for everything.  I would be nowhere had you not been my mother.  The foundation you gave us, first at home, then at church, then through a world of experiences that still blow my mind to this day, have been the bedrock of my life.  I'd simply be nothing without you.  Thank you!!!

And to all you mothers reading this....the mothers who stand up and scream their lungs out when their baby makes a play on the athletic game....and to the mothers who stand up and scream their lungs out when their baby doesn't do quite what you think they should....thank YOU.  Keep doing what you do.  The world needs you.  The world is crying out for nurture. 

God bless.