In honor of my mother's birthday today and the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, a celebration of the Blessed Mother of us all...I thought I would post some thoughts I have had about my Mom.
Lucy's Birth
My mother was the one that spent most of that week with me. Patrick had to work and deal with boys, so he couldn’t be at the hospital much. He got Joey on and off the bus to school and took Daniel to work with him most days. I knew what he was doing, and I appreciated that I didn’t need to worry about the boys being taken care of, but part of me was still lonely and resentful. So Mom stayed with me, watching stupid TV shows, playing endless games of rummy, just talking to me, drying my hair for me after helping my ungainly body into and out of the shower. Sometimes I just slept or read while she worked on the pink flower quilt she was making for Lucy. She had made quilts for all my babies, something for them to keep and pass on to their own children. It was an instinct I appreciated, but didn’t truly understand until my grandparents and great-grandparents started passing away. There was this need to leave something behind, a tangible reminder that you had been there and had loved. I was, understandably, a bit of an emotional disaster that week, but my mother made it easier to handle. For all the times she got on my nerves, I always felt better when she was around and I always wanted her around when I needed help or comfort. For all the agony we had been through when I was a young adult, we had gotten to a point where we understood each other and what being a mother meant.
Joey's Birth
She was the first to hold him other than me and his father, just as she was the first to hold Daniel and Lucy. It seemed fitting somehow that the person who had given me life was the first to welcome the little lives that came from me. I felt closer to her in that moment than I ever had. Finally, I understood her better. All the times she had said “you’ll understand when you are a parent” made sense.
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