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my mother I remember when I was a kid and I used to give my mother a hard time and she would always tell me, "Just wait until you grow up and have kids of your own, then you'll understand." What she meant by this, at that time, and for many years I would not know until low and behold I had my son and I'll be damned, she was right! This is what I now understand: 1. There is no such thing as the perfect mom because we are only human. 2. Moms want to give their children everything but sometimes this isn't possible. 3. Mothers have to sacrifice a great deal for their children, but children never have to sacrifice a thing for their mothers. 4. Mothers don't get a lot of sleep and that's why they may be cranky now and then. 5. Mothers are the only people in this world who will love you unconditionally. Even though you may tell them you hate them, they still love you. It's really hard for me to admit this, but I told my mother I hated her on more than one occasion. And once I even told her that I wished she were dead. My mother, my dear, dear mother, who had breast cancer and still got up and worked so that she could afford to pay for my dance lessons and for my brother could take up hockey. My mother who even on her sickest of days could manage to tell me she loved me. I'll never forget the day when she almost drove us both into a tree out of frustration. It wasn't something I said, rather a sound I made - an aggravated sound, and a roll of my eyes because she was coughing and it was driving me nuts. Why was she coughing? She didn't have a cold. Could it have been the chemo? Something dripping down into the back of her throat causing this incessant coughing? I remember thinking it had to be from the smoking and that's why I was frustrated. Even when she had the cancer she didn't give it up. This was upsetting for me because I blamed the cigarettes for her illness and did why she didn't just stop. (She finally did agree to stop, and then two weeks later she died.) Regardless, whatever the reasons were for her uncontrollable coughing I wish I hadn't expressed disapproval or whatever it was that came out of my mouth and caused her to break down in tears and almost commit homocide. "I'm so tired, I'm so damn tired," she cried. "And you have the nerve to roll your eyes. You have no idea what I go through just to get through the day for you and your brother. That's the only reason I'm still here. Do you think I enjoy this - what I have to go through?" With every word she was becoming more and more hysterical and I was becoming increasingly frightened, which completely silenced me. "I'd love to just end it right now, drive this car into a bloody tree. You don't think I've thought about it? I think about it every day." Her foot pressed down harder on the gas, accelerating the car, and before I could even blink my eyes she had nearly drove us into a tree. And then the car screeched to a hault. We were on a quiet side street, just blocks from my house. She collapsed onto the steering wheel, crying, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I'm doing anymore....I'm so sorry." I started to cry too. I felt so awful. What was I thinking. She was sick. Why had I upset her. Now, if something happened to her it would be my fault. I was convinced. "I'm sorry too mama, I didn't mean it." "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay", I remember her saying out loud over and over again, as if trying to assure herself and me at the same time. And then she composed herself, turned the wheel to get the car back off the side of the road, and drove us home. When she died several months later, I did blame myself. And carried that with me for so many years. I wish she were still alive so that I could tell her now how much I appreciate everything she did for me. I was not her child by blood, but everything she did for me, from the day she brought me home, told me I was hers and that I was loved. To have taken a six week old baby in that was not hers, well I know NOW how much work it is and I realize now how selfless she was. My husband has admitted to me on more than one occasion that he could never adopt because the idea of taking care of a child that was not his did not appeal to him. When I remind him that I was adopted, he told me "She must have been an incredible person." I fully expect that one day, probably in his teen years, maybe soon, the words "I hate you", may spring from my son's lips. He may even go as far as to say, "I wish you were dead." And regardless of how these words may sting, I will still love him unconditionally, the same way my mother did despite so many things I may have said or done to aggravate, challenge, bother, or hurt her. And one day, maybe when he grows up he too will get married and have children and then he too will understand the love of a mother is like no other. Even my husband, Mr. Macho, finally acknowledges how hard it must have been for his own mother, raising four sons, having to give up her fifth child because they couldn't afford to keep it. Being a parent brings you closer to your own parents, somehow. So I feel a bit cheated that I don't get that privelege. But every time I change my son's diaper, feed him, comfort him, wipe his tears, hug him, kiss him, even when I lose sleep because of him, I think of my mother and stop to honor her memory.
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