Another May

Another Mother’s Day. We celebrate the fabulous woman who gave us life, who surrendered her body to our needs for months and tears, who worried about us and planned for our future and gave us everything she could. There was no one we loved more or needed more or worshipped more than mother. How powerful she looked to us when we were tiny! And wasn’t she the first person we ran to when we were hurt or scared or excited as kids? No one counted as much as mother.
And slowly we grew up. We changed and so did she. Or at least we saw her differently. Her flaws magnified and her polish tarnished. We kept secrets. We didn’t want her to know everything about us.  We wanted our own space.
At some point we grew critical of her. We didn’t like choices she made and opinions she held. We faulted the way she lived. And we felt impatient.
As we lived independently and turned our attention to managing our own lives we needed Mom less. We produce the requisite Mother’s Day gift and brunch. We have changed and so has she. We all get along now.
But there is one gift we haven’t given. We haven’t opened our hearts and forgiven. We need to forgive this woman for whom we’ve felt love and resentment. We need to forgive her for growing old, for not being exactly who we wanted, for having her own frailties, for not living up to our fantasies of perfect Mom. We need to forgive her for being separate from us. Her life really isn’t about us, not anymore. 

 
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