In the fall of 1983, I have vivid recollections of my mother, standing beneath the apple tree, a rake in hand. “Here, take this,” she instructed, “and gather those leaves into a pile.” With reluctance, I began to scrape at the ground, kicking around some rotten apples. “I think I’m ready for a garbage bag,” I finally said. “Aren’t you going to jump in it first?” she replied, a playful glint in her eye.
Sundays were another cherished time. I remember piling into the back of my mother’s old car, affectionately nicknamed “The Bomb.” The interior was worn and faded, and if my sisters and I could manage to behave during church, she would reward us with a late breakfast at Roy Rogers. I can still taste the crispy French toast sticks while my mother quietly sipped her coffee from a paper cup.
These snapshots of my childhood replay in my mind, often becoming distorted with the passage of time. Did we truly dine out every Sunday, or was it just a singular occasion that my memory has replayed? After three decades, I find it hard to fully trust the film of my past, yet I can’t seem to stop reliving it.
My mother passed away when I was just eight years old, leaving my sisters, aged six and two, and me to navigate life without her. I believed I had come to terms with her loss until I became a mother myself. In those quiet, sleepless nights, as I struggled to nurse my newborn son, a wave of longing for my own mother surged within me. “I don’t know how to do this. I wish she were here to guide me,” I thought.
While other mothers discussed their own mothers’ antiquated advice, I was left sifting through my memories, searching for guidance to help me through the challenges of motherhood. I recalled a time when I had shouted at my mother, “I don’t love you! I hate you!” To which she responded, “Well, you’re making it pretty hard to love you right now too.” It struck me: if I had only eight years to reflect on parenting, what lessons could I impart? My mother had faced her own challenges; she had been diagnosed with cancer and passed away just three months later. Yet, she unknowingly created a loving environment for my sisters and me. Our father stepped up magnificently, and our community rallied around us, providing support.
As the years rolled on, I continued to seek solace in my memories. By the time I was pregnant at 36, I thought I had gleaned all the wisdom I could from my mother’s life. But when my son started waking at 2 a.m., wailing until dawn, I found myself overwhelmed. My body ached, and I felt incapable of providing comfort for either him or myself. My husband appeared equally exhausted. “I am a failure,” I confessed, disguising my deeper feelings of frustration and doubt.
I recall a memory of declaring to my mother that I was running away. Perhaps it was because she wouldn’t let me watch more TV or because of a meatloaf dinner. That detail is lost, but I remember her crouching beside me, adding items to my imaginary suitcase. “What are you doing?” I questioned. She met my gaze and replied, “I’m helping you pack.”
My mother was no myth. When I think of her, I don’t envision the perfect depiction of motherhood, nor do I see an unwavering figure gliding through chaos. Instead, I remember a woman who, despite her rusted car, exuded beauty, kindness, and, at times, frustration.
Though my son is only two, I have come to realize a fundamental truth about motherhood: it will often defy my expectations. Some days will tempt me to pack his bag and send him off on an adventure. Other days will require unconventional incentives, like fast food. There will be moments filled with joy and wonder, and others will test my resolve. My mother taught me that all these experiences are part of the journey.
I can still picture her wry smile as I abandoned my rake and leaped into a mountain of leaves. She showed me that while I may not cherish every moment, I will discover more love in this role than I could ever imagine—moments that will pass quicker than I anticipate.
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In summary, the reflections on my mother’s teachings reveal that motherhood is filled with unpredictable challenges and joyous moments. Embracing both the struggles and the tender memories cultivates a deeper understanding of this unique journey.