Mother’s Day Is Not Always Easy

Not everyone is gifted with a wonderful mother. Some lose their mothers too soon. Some mothers don’t know how to love because they weren’t loved properly. My heart goes out to everyone who wasn’t loved enough. Can a person learn to love? I believe they can. But one must first be loved in order to give love. I write about my mother, love, forgiveness, and the need for second chances because I believe in sharing her values. I hope it changes someone’s life. I want to share my mother’s love with you, because she would love you if she could meet you. She loved everyone.

What is a mother? I will share my mother with you. A mother is love, pure and simple! A mother is not perfect, just like no human is perfect. The bond between mother and child is incredibly strong. The baby lives inside its mother for nine months: nourished, cuddled, and sheltered in a very private and protected place, feeling safe and loved, hearing Mommy’s heartbeat and voice. It’s the ultimate intimacy. This Mother’s Day weekend, I honor my beautiful mother. She was loving, generous, fun, and strict in the best sense of the word. She aimed high and wanted the best principles to be part of my life. My mother adored me. I adored her.

The picture above was taken a few months after my full-term baby sister took her last breath, minutes after birth, the victim of placental abruption. My mother’s health was not completely recovered at the time of this photo session. She looks quite pale here. As sad as she was, my mother continued to dispense comfort to us with a clean home, good food, stories, bandages, cuddles, and kisses. She filled our lives with love. My mother taught me to be kind and loving to others. Though I might be hurting, it’s not an excuse to hurt others or to make them miserable.

The picture above was taken soon after my full-term baby brother died from placental abruption. It was a second tragedy, and I know it broke my mother’s heart. It broke all our hearts. We loved our family. We had been looking forward to each of the new babies. This time my mother nearly died at the hospital. If not for prayers, if not for a new doctor on the night shift who knew of a new medication, if not for this medication being found and delivered by a larger Los Angeles hospital, if not for all the kind people who donated blood to save my mother’s life as her life started to fade away…well, I don’t want to think about the ‘what if’s.’ I’m so grateful my mother lived to celebrate my sixth birthday and many birthdays beyond.

The little Canoga Park Doctor’s Hospital didn’t allow children during visiting hours. My father took us to her ground-floor window when she was feeling better. My brother and I hadn’t seen her in days. My mother smiled and waved. She had saved some little packages of apple jelly from her hospital tray for my brother and me. No matter what was going on in her life, she was always thoughtful of others. I didn’t understand the full significance as a child. But her thoughtfulness staggers me now. When my mother recovered enough to come home, she continued to love us all despite her quiet grieving. My mother’s tender love and care for each of us reinforced her belief and teaching to always care for others, even through pain and sadness.

You would be remiss if you did not ask where my mother got this inner strength. I will tell you. Her love for God and her reliance on God gave her the strength and hope to continue to live and to make a beautiful life for us. It’s the same place you and I can go for strength and hope. Five years later, my mother had a miracle blessing, but that’s a story in my book, A Year of Wearing My Mother’s Perfume.

Most days, as my brother and I walked in the front door after school, my mother was pulling a sheet of warm, fresh cookies from the oven. “Go change your clothes,” she would say. When we had changed into play clothes, we would sit at the table eating warm cookies with a glass of milk, while we told her about our day. She loved to listen to all the details. I usually told my mother all the good things about my day, but if I mentioned someone had been mean to me, she would unfailingly say this: “We don’t know what kind of home they have. Let’s pray for them and forgive them, just like Jesus forgives us. See if you can turn her [or him] into a friend.” Forgiveness meant letting go of hurt feelings (not always easy), being kind to the person who wronged me, and praying for them. Looking for ways to be kind to someone, while praying for them, usually gets rid of the hurt feelings. I learned to appreciate this bit of wisdom. Not everyone has a happy home with unconditional love. It can make a difference.

In the time since she was hit by the eighteen-wheeler truck; I’ve been traveling this path of life without my mother. I miss her every day. On second thought, I will always have her love, her principles, and her memories in my heart. Here’s what I would like to say to you. Hug your mother all you can. Tell her how wonderful she is. Thank her every chance you get. I’m glad I did. If you aren’t sure your mother will like some love, surprise her anyway. Maybe she has been waiting to be consistently loved by someone, anyone, because growing up she wasn’t loved properly. There might be trust issues. Maybe she doesn’t know how to love. Love anyway.

I believe in love and forgiveness.

Take care,

Charlyne Cox