It is bittersweet for me.
It is the day my mother died.
Mothers Day, 1986.
I was 23.
From then on, the day was tainted and I mentally braced myself as that time came around. I winced and wished it away each year, avoiding (as much as I could) any reference to it.
So much unresolved. Left unsaid. Too painful to think about.
Then, years later, my son was born. And I became, “mother”.
I vowed, and have tried, to live up to the honour and responsibility of the title. Not just on this day, but each and every day since my dear boy was born.
For me, to be a mother was not an entitlement, but a privilege.
I am so grateful to be his mother.
He is an only child and is wise beyond his 22 years.
He was born with “old eyes”. Even the nurses in the maternity ward said so. Many of you will understand what I mean.
As he grew, it was apparent that he had a way about him. Gentle. Kind. Knowing - quietly so.
An independent soul. True to himself. But, without selfishness.
He marches to the beat of his own drum.
I always knew that about him.
Incidentally, he is a drummer. And a very good one at that. His forte is jazz.
To hear him cut a smooth jazz groove is a delight to hear. The house thrums with the good energies and vibes he creates.
|Age 3 ~ destined to be a drummer|
And to see him on stage brings me to tears, even after all these years.
The wee boy who used to reach up, grasp my hands and place his little feet on top of mine as we “danced” around the kitchen.
The auburn haired child with the infectious laugh and huge brown eyes that melted your heart, has grown into a handsome, intelligent, talented young man with a wicked sense of humour, warm heart and a strong sense of justice and fairness.
A calm influence on us (his parents) and his many friends.
For one so young, he is a wise old soul.
I was truly blessed when he was born. This child, this boy, this young man, has taught me much.
In nurturing him as he grew, watching him, allowing him to be who he is - who he wanted to be - and by listening, really listening to him, he taught ME how to be a better human being.
It’s not a right, to be a parent… a mother.
It’s a gift.
An honour. One I know should never be abused or taken for granted.
Life-giver, custodian and carer for such a short time. But proud mother for ever.
Thank you, dearest boy. You've made this day, every day, so much brighter.
I love you.