Trending
When you were little, you would cry. Not often. And certainly not at any great length. But long enough to convey to me that you needed something -- a bottle, a jar of food, your diaper changed, that little pat on your back to relieve the pain that had acquired inside your stomach. The need to be held so you could fall asleep more easily.
And most of the time, I was able to fix what was wrong.
While you couldn’t say the words of what it was that you needed, most of the time ... I just knew.
I knew because I am your mom. Because it was instilled in me to feel what you were feeling.
As you got older, during those tumultuous teenage years, you didn’t cry when you had a need or a want. At least not aloud or to me. You simply kept the pain and hurt to yourself. How I would have given anything to have been able to make those problems go away for you. How I wish I could have simply rocked you to sleep while singing quietly in your ear so I could have lessened the pain that had acquired inside of your soul. And yet, I couldn’t. I wasn’t able to fix what was wrong.
All I could do was be there. All I could do was offer my willingness to talk if you ever needed to talk. Or give my opinion if you ever needed advice. Or merely listen if you wanted the chance to vent all your anger and frustrations. I could still hold you, but I couldn’t make this hurting stop.
But as your mom, I was able to feel what you were feeling, because again … it is instilled in me.
As an adult, I can still feel your pain. Every heartbreak you have, is just another heartbreak for me. But I also feel your joy when life miraculously doesn’t go wrong. And every happiness you feel, I feel it, too. Because I am your mother and it is instilled in me.
And while it is cliche, being a mother is honestly the most rewarding of all jobs. You are instantly blessed with a love so strong that you have absolutely no idea where it even came from or how it ever got to be such an intricate part of you.
But it is oftentimes a thankless job. How often do we turn to our mother and say, “Thank you?” I mean, really?
For those of us fortunate enough to still have our mom in our life, do you ever just wake up and turn to her (or call or text or Facetime or Zoom her) and say, “Thank you?”
The truth is, I don’t. Not often enough. I don’t say …
Thank you for choosing to bring me into this world.
Thank you for staying up rocking me and singing the Rolling Stones, “Take it or Leave it,” until I finally fell asleep around 4 a.m.
Thank you for making me believe there was this amazing Santa Claus who somehow found his way to my house in a foot of snow and delivered exactly what I wanted despite the tremendous cost on a modest income and the check marks listed in the “bad” column of the good list/bad list taped to the refrigerator.
Thank you for the times when I looked out in the audience and you were there.
In all reality, just how often do we turn to our mom and say, “Thank you?”
Thank you for pulling up in a “new-to-me” white Firebird because I had gotten my first job (and because you were probably tired of me wrecking all of your vehicles — and thanks for forgiving me for wrecking all of those vehicles.) Thank you for crying at my wedding. Thank you for holding my child and loving them so fierce you would think they were your own. Thank you for giving me the very last dollar to your name because I, too, needed it. Thank you for walking in my front door — pajamas and all, because a fiasco was occurring at 2 a.m. and I needed my mom and was absolutely clueless as to what to do. Thank you for being the place that I want to run to when life gets too freaking hard. Just thank you.
Do we ever just tell our mother, “Thank you,” simply for the heck of it? So she knows she is loved? So she is aware she is appreciated? That we recognize all of her sacrifices? I don’t think we do.
So for those who are fortunate enough to still have their mother in their life, I think it is time that we did.
I’ll say it again, being a mom is the best job in the world. Even on days when it isn’t.
And the thankless sacrifices ä I would do them over and over again.
Why? Because I am your mother. And it is instilled in me.
Thanks Mom.
(Stenger is the community editor of the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times.)