A couple of years ago, I was
catching up with some friends from high school. Since
my mother was an extremely active volunteer during my
high school years, she knew (and was known by) all my
friends. They called her “Mrs. T” and many
people had a lot of affection for her. I wrote this about
her: “My mother is just the same as she was while
we were in high school. Her mind is extremely sharp; her
energy level is amazing, she continues to offer so much
help to so many as she generously gives away her time
and talents. I have much, much admiration for her.”
Now, I promptly forget that
I wrote this and never mentioned it to my mother. But
I posted it on an online bulletin board where others of
my class were posting messages. One of my classmates saw
it, sent it to her mother, who then saw my mother in their
joint Sunday school class and gave her a copy of it.
When Mother’s Day came
around that day, I went by to see her and take her some
flowers. She said that she had already received the best
Mother’s Day present possible from me. I looked
at her with puzzlement. I am not the most observant of
daughters, and knew I had not done anything previously.
But she told me that she had seen what I had written and
it had touched her deeply.
I realized then how little
I had voiced my appreciation for her. Our relationship
has been challenging over the years—something common
to many mother/daughter ties. I both needed her and didn’t
want to need her. I would have never made it through the
early years with my own children had she not been willing
and able to help in the ways she did. When I hit an extremely
rough time in my life about 12 years ago, she was there
to support me through that.
Over and over again, I’ve
argued with her, just sure that I knew better than she
did about how she should live her life. Twenty years ago,
my parents sold their large but in poor repair house in
Old East Dallas and built a new house in Richardson, near
my own home at that time. They insisted on putting in
an upstairs living space. I told them they were crazy.
By then, neither my mother nor my dad could climb stairs
comfortably, and the ground level was more than adequate
for their needs. But Mother insisted. And how right she
was. That space came to be known as “Hotel Thomas”
and every single family member has spent days, weeks and
even months there for various reasons. We used to joke
about her having to take reservations for the space.
She’s never learned to
use a computer well, and the Internet and email is still
a mystery to her. But she can write an article and type
it with word-perfect accuracy, head to the library to
research investments, dictate to her stockbroker with
amazing insight exactly what he should buy and sell, and
add a long column of numbers in her head, figure the sales
tax, and be precisely on the money. She’s a pretty
bad cook, but still manages three meals a day for herself
and for my very frail dad, takes care of him, plays bridge
with her friends, reads three newspapers a day, and clips
and sends articles to the various grandchildren (not understanding
that a hyperlink in an email could do the same things
MUCH FASTER).
So for this Mother’s
Day celebration, coming Sunday, May 13, I say to my mother,
Mrs. T, “Thank you. You’ve been a treasure
and inspiration to me. I could have never done it without
you. May God bless you richly.” I hope you will
join me in offering the same to those who have mothered
you. Where would we be without them?
