My Mother

What do I do or say to even attempt to repay my Mom for what she has done for me? Do I tell her of all the ways she has shaped me? Do I recount my favorite memories? How about sharing my appreciation for every ounce of love she poured out - many of which I used to roll my eyes at (or worse, ask her to stop)?

Honestly, there is so much to say about my Mother. And since I could never so much as approach being able to return her love for me, I'd like to just tell you all about her - what makes her my Mother.

• She loves telling stories, often the same ones she has shared dozens of times before - but they say something about what she considers most memorable.

• So much of herself is wound up in those who she loves. Past experience tells me that asking what is new in her life will result in her telling me all about others who are on her heart.

• She sometimes keeps her distance out of fear of being overbearing (which she wouldn't be) or crossing boundaries (which deserve to be torn down anyways).

• The first thing she tells me when I visit - which isn't nearly often enough - is where I can find coffee for the morning, and what there is to eat. The guest bed is always made, and there are always fresh towels in the bathroom.

• She taught me how to fold sheets, and how to put them on the bed (though for the life of me I still never figured out hospital corners).

• She loves getting flowers as a gift, but always worries about killing them.

• When I was growing up she drove an hour each way to work 9 hours a day, and still came home and made dinner for us. She also took every other Friday afternoon off.

• She taught me to crochet and use a sewing machine (though I am out of practice on both), and my favorite afghan growing up was one she made for me.

• Once in college I didn't call for a few weeks (months?). She emailed me a form letter with blanks for me to fill in - to which my immediate reaction was oh no, I messed up.

• At some point in life, she got the impression I loved macadamia nuts. From that point on, every Christmas stocking and care package included a jar of macadamia nuts. It wasn't until years later that I told her I don't really care for them all that much, but never had the heart to say anything.

• She used to be part of the church choir, and loves singing along to songs in the car. She has a beautiful singing voice, and I still remember her rocking and singing me to sleep when I was young.

• Christmas Eve found Mom up in her bedroom wrapping presents with the door mostly closed. The room was off-limits right up to the point that our presents were taken care of, at which point I could come in and watch TV and get help with my wrapping. I always got to be her thumb when she was tying bows.

• My Mom has always had tight shoulders and neck pain, and growing up with that meant I learned how to give (and receive) shoulder rubs. I remember sitting at the top of the stairs and helping each other out with knots.

• My Mom taught me to love cooking, though she would say these days I'm better at it than she is.

• When I was a Junior in High School I broke my dominant hand. For the weeks I couldn't write, she acted as scribe for my math homework.

• She was there at every soccer game, taekwando competition, gymnastics meet. She was there for every practice.

• She knew how to make my favorite sandwich, which was an incomprehensible combination of baloney, cheese, and a variety of condiments (including grape jelly). Talk about sacrificial love.

• She loves playing games, and was unbelievably patient with me when I was a kid - allowing me to bring out the dictionary when it was my turn in Scrabble. Especially now that I have a son who is inclined to "take his time", I appreciate so much more how difficult that was.

• She supported me in my conversion, and was there when I was Confirmed at the Easter Vigil. I don't know how she managed that one, because I'm sure part of her was breaking realizing we wouldn't be able to receive the Eucharist together anymore, but she was there, pouring herself out yet again, as she always has.

• She is kind, warm, and thoughtful. She worries about her children and always puts them first. She will support us through anything.

It must be so hard to be a Mother, being so near to your children - so near that you physically carry them the first 9 months - then watching them slowly move further away from you the rest of their lives. Wanting to pour yourself out and yet finding your love not always welcomed or received. I suspect she still bears parts of my sister and me, even from miles apart.

When I was younger she took care of me. She was protector, nurse, comforter, tender-of-hangnails, tissue-holder. These days, I'm older and more independent, and I think our relationship has changed in some ways. I'd like to think it has just matured. I have more to offer her in return, though I could never come close to all she has given me. I'm stronger and more capable than I was when she used to tie my shoes and comb my hair, so the things I need from her are different.

I try to give the impression I am a capable adult who has it all together, but she still is able to find all the spots in my house that need cleaning when she visits.

But I still need my Mother to be my Mother, and I have so much still to learn from her.