When I was a baby, you said that my father wouldn't let you bathe me because he felt you weren't strong enough to hold me. But what he didn't realize was that you are the strongest woman I know.
When I was in elementary school, you left for work before I woke up and returned home at dinnertime. I assumed that you were so consumed with your work that I told my school that you were too busy to attend PTA meetings. It didn't bother me one way or another, but you were so angry with me when you found out.
When I was in sixth grade, you found a new job and moved our family to a house that was one mile away from your work. I didn't like moving from the city to the suburbs. I quit going to church and stopped taking ballet lessons because I could no longer walk by myself. I thought the suburban kids were stupid and bigoted. But I did like seeing you in the mornings.
When I got an A in math or science instead of an A+, you were disappointed in me. "You should do better!", you would yell at me. I thought this was totally unfair and that an A should be good enough, but deep down I knew I could do better.
When we got back from a cross country flight the night before a science final exam, we all overslept the next morning. When I saw that the clock read the start time of the exam, I told you that the teacher would let me make it up if you just called in. You refused and said I had to get to the exam right away, even though I was jet-lagged and would be late. It was the hardest exam I had ever taken in my fourteen years and I thought I had failed. But you had faith in my abilities and I ended up having the second highest grade in the class (and I didn't get dinged for not being first!).
You taught me from an early age to be independent, never to rely on man financially. I nodded my head and said yes Mommy, of course Mommy. You always harped on me to be responsible. I didn't really know what you meant, but always felt it was unfair because none of my friends had to live up to these ridiculous standards. I always thought that your expectations and demands of me were too high.
But now I understand, I am a mother. I understand that everything you did, from working, to moving, to expecting academic perfection was all for my benefit. That you sacrificed so much so that I could thrive. From living in a strained marriage to pushing me to be independent instead of holding me too close. You could see my potential far better than I could and never pushed me beyond my capacity. It takes a tremendous amount of love and energy to keep your belief in your children strong. It is so easy to just let them take the easy way out. But I try to persevere, just as you did.
I remember this quote from the book From This Day Forward by Cokie and Steve Roberts. "In your parents' eyes, you become an adult when you have children. In your own eyes, I think you fully become an adult and fully aware of your own mortality when you lose a parent." Nowadays, you constantly remind me where your safe is and where all your legal documents are if you were to pass suddenly. You ask me to call you to make sure that you haven't dropped dead. In your way, you are preparing me for your demise. But what you don't know is that I don't know what I would do without you. I don't know how I would bear the pain. How would I go on without the person who believes in me the most? Perhaps you have shown me the way already, but I haven't seen it through my insolence.
I love you Mommy and I am so proud to be your daughter. Happy Mother's Day.
Contributing editor Angela blogs about her adventures in parenting at mommy bytes.
