I feel bad for my mother. I think her children are stunted in the “showing emotion” department. We don’t show her the love and praise she deserves. We are stoic, though so is she. Sometimes I wonder if it hurts her.
She left us in the Philippines when I was 2 and Christian was 4. “She left us”—to put it that way is offensive. She sacrificed time with her children in their most formative years to lay the foundations for them in another country.
I sometimes wonder how much of that distance contributed to our independent nature. Physical distance sustained for 5 years, and when we were reunited, the distance of a mother working night shifts and sleeping through the day.
I don’t ever remember being angry about it. Don’t ever remember craving a mother’s tender love or guidance; I didn’t expect it so I never missed it. Did that hurt her too?
Looking back through the cracks of our memories, I wonder what she truly sacrificed to get us here: time, close familial bonds. Was it worth it?
Yes, of course it was.
Mothers are always a lesson in strength and sacrifice, and she–mine–was also a lesson in letting go. You can see in her face there is no bitterness and she smiles with that quiet pride. She knew how to forgive. She knew how to accept her children, as we are.
Words of love and praise are few and far between, but isn’t every fiber of me already a dedication to you?
Happy Mother’s Day, every day of my life.