Hug Your Mother!I didn’t really get close to my mother until I was in nearly thirty year’s old. I was just arriving at Logan Airport, in Boston, having flown home because of a family crisis. I was alone, coming through the tunnel and into a crowd of strangers, each of them waiting for a loved one or making a business connection. Through the crowd, first I saw my uncle, who had driven my mother the 40-mile journey into Boston, and then I saw my mother.I remembered that one of the last times I had seen them together was when my grandmother, their mother, had died. They stood on either side of her bed, holding her hands as she passed away, away from this place and from all of us. She went peacefully, loved by her surviving children and everyone else who knew her. She was a self-made woman who had lived through hard times: the Depression, divorce, losing her youngest son in a freak accident, and managing to work, buy a home, raise her son and daughter, and live past her retirement and into her 80’s. Many years earlier, when she had no money to give to her Church, she would rummage the bins of the local shoe company, take the spent ribbons and other materials, launder and iron them, and then she would give them to the sisters who taught at the parish school. I can imagine that a lot of bows were made from the ribbons that my grandmother had painstakingly taken from those bins. My mom and I had had our own ups and downs through the years. There were times when I would keep a distance, not calling or visiting, and when I did, not really wanting her to hug or hold me — I would pull back, withholding, resisting. Sadly, I knew that I was still clinging to childhood disappointments and angers. Through all of this, I became aware that none of this was going to be more important than the fact that I missed her, and that some day I would miss her in an even greater way. I walked towards my mother and uncle, I reached out to her and we hugged, but this time I met her half way. I felt a change take place within myself. I accepted her embrace without any conditions, and I relaxed in her arms, for the first time in many years. Although each of our parents is an individual, separate from ourselves, it is that special relationship of closeness, that inseparable sense that they have and will always be a part of our lives that is central to our to our own self awareness and identity. I have always been able to see a bit of my parents in my self — sometimes favorably, sometimes not. From my mother I received my love and gift for music, my sense of humor, my ability to discern right from wrong, and my commitment to education and community service. My mother has always believed in me, and thanks to her, I believe in myself. Thanks mom. |
