Future Mother’s Day

Joe has since passed away and this will be my second Mother’s Day without him there to celebrate with us after Mass. This comment that he made to me, year after year in the parish social hall, has stayed with me regardless of the month or holiday we’re in. It probably started when I was fifteen, much too young to care about motherhood or even know if it would be a part of my life. Joe saw straight through my teenaged confusion and included me in a holiday that I never felt was about me. It was—and still is—a day to honor my own mother and grandmother as well as those mothers around me.

Yet, as I approach the age where I’m starting to consider things like family and marriage, I’m realizing motherhood is more than just parenting. Recently in an English class, we were discussing motherhood and the topic shifted to discussing what age is best for women to have children. Most female students were arguing that they felt it was better to be older; even though their mother’s had them in their early twenties, these 20-somethings said they felt years away from being prepared to bring another human being into this world. Our professor, a mother herself, remarked, "You’re never completely prepared."

I can’t concur with this opinion from personal experience, but I believe it to be true. Because motherhood is so much more than bringing life into the world, and it lasts much longer than the eighteen years many children live at home.

I see this in my own mother. She had a life before any of my siblings came into the picture, but for my entire existence, she’s always held the role of mother. It’s hard for me to distinguish between her and motherhood, because they seem organically intertwined. I can’t picture her before marrying my dad or what she looked like at her high school prom. I know that part of her life exists, but it is not one to which I am privy. Maybe that’s how it should be; I like knowing that even though I am her own flesh and blood, there were parts that she kept to herself.

Because although motherhood is a total giving of self, especially physically, the mother doesn’t cease to exist. There is something given to the child, whether in body or spirit, yet something retained. Our DNA may be essentially similar, but we are distinct people. She has shaped me, yet she has remained an individual despite the five kids she has raised.

While every second I spend with my mom is in a mother-daughter relationship, there are times where it seems more prominent. My mom is currently singing ‘Amazing Grace’ as she walks around the house, making sure every inch is in perfect order for Easter tomorrow. All of her kids and grandkids will be under one roof, for the first time in months. I’m the fourth of five kids and I watched the older three grow older, get jobs, and slowly move away. Gradually, seats at the dinner table emptied, with kids at afterschool jobs or moved out completely. For a while, we’d place a statue or stuffed animal in the missing child’s seat, to mark their presence even if they weren’t physically eating with us. We’ve drifted away from that, with the youngest leaving for college in August, but this sentiment still remains: that we feel the absence of our siblings, and our mom doubly so.

I think this is where I see my mom’s motherhood the most. Last Easter, I was stuck on campus in quarantine housing while my family was enjoying sunshine and good food. This Easter marks not only the first Easter I’ll get to attend in-person in two years, but also a celebration where every family member will be under the same roof. I know this is what drives my mother’s spirit as she spends the day cooking and cleaning—even though she knows that no one is here just for the food and hygiene, but to come home to her. My mom feels the most whole when everyone she loves and cares for is together and under her wing of protection.

And I think this is what makes motherhood. It is not just in the creation of life, but the noticing of when life isn’t present. I know no one felt my absence from last year’s Easter dinner more than my mom, and I know no one will be happier to see every chair full tomorrow. Mothers are those who notice our absence and celebrate our presence. It is this constant and eternal care and attention that our mothers deserve endless gratitude for.

I’m glad Joe was there to prepare me for the vocation of motherhood, welcoming me into this world which seems so intimidating, and rightly so. His perspective of motherhood as something worth celebrating, even years before it is a reality, is something that propels me towards that threshold. As I watched my older sister turn into a mother herself, I know that it is an experience that marks you, but does not change the individual you already were. I still see the spunky, confident teenager she was as I watch her care for her own daughters. I know that one day my younger sister will watch that happen for me, and wonder when I stopped being the little girl she shared a bedroom with. And even though I don’t know who my mother was before my oldest brother came into this world, I know those parts of her exist; I’ve just always called them ‘mom’.