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It’s
Mother’s Day
PRAISED BE JESUS
CHRIST!
(Now and Forever)
This Sunday is Mother’s Day. Anyone who overlooks that fact deserves
time in the doghouse.
It is right and proper that mothers have a special day. Otherwise they
could easily be taken for granted 365 days a year, 24/7. If people
deserve special recognition, none deserve it more than mothers. May 14
is the time which reminds us we need to honor the woman who is
our mother, be she living or deceased.
Motherhood is a vocation, a lifelong commitment of dedication, love,
hopes and anxiety. Not everyone looks upon their mother with love and
respect. I understand that. Some mothers, in fact, do not live up to
their billing. Life is filled with chuckholes. No mother is perfect. No
child either. I thank God that mine was a happy home. It’s been my
privilege as a priest to observe outstanding families, and super moms. I
have no difficulty in sending a bouquet of thank you thoughts to
my mother. It is my hope you share this same sentiment. No matter how
accomplished or flawed she may be or may have been, you and I would not
be if it weren’t for our mothers.
Deceased now some 16 years, Mom was 20 years my senior. Her birthday was
Aug. 20, mine Aug. 29. As the oldest of eight during hard times, she was
pushed out of the nest at an early age. She actually was younger than
she realized when she married my father. A long-standing, middle-age
argument with my grandmother led my mother to send for a birth
certificate. She insisted my grandmother could not be as young as she
claimed to be. When the birth certificate arrived, Mom discovered that
Grandma was on target while she, in fact, was a year younger than she
had been led to believe. The record straight, it meant she celebrated
her 50th birthday twice: the first time based on her presumed age and
the second time according to her actual date of birth. My father was not
amused.
Although not born a Catholic, Catholicism was very important to my
mother (to Dad as well). Next to life, the Catholic faith undoubtedly is
my parents’ greatest gift to me. The faith was passed on with conviction
that God had chosen us to be Catholic. Fidelity to Mass each week was
never questioned. While not particularly pious, we were Catholic to the
core and proud of it.
Long after my ordination to the priesthood (Mom and I had become best
friends), she confided how difficult it was when I left home for the
seminary. I was a senior in high school and the oldest child, as well as
the only son. She explained that when she went to Mass and saw my
classmates she ached, physically. Until that was shared I had no idea of
the depth of the bond a mother has with her babies. I have never
forgotten that intimate moment. It was a profound insight into
motherhood.
Mom’s compulsion (I suspect one shared by every mother) was to see her
children succeed. So, there were numerous suggestions: what I had done
wrong as well as what I should have done. Every child knows the regime,
I’m sure. It was part of life for 57 years. It seemed to intensify after
I became a bishop. Those suggestions, even when they led to arguments,
were an expression of a mother’s love, recognized or not. Whether child
number one, number five, or more, each child carries a mother’s dreams.
Each is special. That should not be surprising. We are planted next to
the heart of the woman who becomes our mother to be nourished and loved,
protected and formed.
As adults, we have no awareness of the many sleepless nights we caused
our mother, the “owies” kissed away, the sudden change in plans we
triggered, the hours of diapering, cooking, cleaning up after, the
moments of tenderness, or the warm security the presence of our mother
brought to us. Sometimes in fatigue, sometimes in tears, sometimes in
loneliness, sometimes with a broken heart, sometimes with joy, sometimes
with laughter, but always, at least in my case, hours upon hours of
giving of herself with love.
Mother’s Day is a wonderful time for stories. Mothers, of course, could
pull up numerous recollections of the “cute” and not-so-cute adventures
of their children. The childhood recollections of adult children
sometimes are distorted, but need to be part of a family’s memory. Most
treasured, perhaps, are things that happen when caring for an elderly
mother.
When I was a child, the Great Depression still cast a shadow over life.
The affluence taken for granted today was unknown, at least in our
family circle. With rare exceptions, you didn’t eat between meals. Junk
food had not yet captured the hearts and expanded the dimensions of
America’s youth. The food put on the table was the food to be eaten.
Wasting food was inexcusable. Whether it was something you could not get
enough of or on your “I hate it” list, you ate it. Otherwise, it was
that or off to bed. A constant refrain was: Think of the poor
starving children in China.
Well, what goes around, comes around. Toward the end of her life, Mom
lost her appetite. It was a special moment when, trying to convince Mom
she needed to eat, I reminded her about the poor starving children in
China. Her response: If you want them to have it, send it UPS. That was
a jewel.
Like all mothers (no doubt), Mom had a compulsion to control. She
fancied she would die after receiving Holy Communion during Mass
celebrated by “himself” (as she sometimes referred to me after I became
Bishop) at her bedside. Mom spent her last months in Florida with my
youngest sister. A weekend visit included the last Mass we had together.
Celebrated at her bedside, and with family gathered around, it was an
emotional moment. I gave my mother Communion and finished Mass. We all
stared down at her cancer-emaciated body. Her eyes were closed. There
was no movement. Tentatively I said: Mom, are you still here? After a
couple seconds, she whispered: Yes, I guess I am.
The lesson: It isn’t easy to surrender to God. But surrender we must,
eventually. Mom so wanted to die that morning. The final Amen didn’t
come until four days later. Like so many separated by the distance
demanded by responsibilities, I was not there.
I have been left with a precious memory. Bending over to kiss her as I
departed her bedside for what proved to be a final time, her last words
to me were: “You have bad breath.” Beat that one, if you can!
Mother’s Day provides an opportunity to reflect on the gifts of the
woman God chose to be our mother. It’s time to focus on the good things
and laugh about those things that were not particularly enjoyable at the
time they happened, but which over time have become treasured memories.
Hopefully, it will be a day of special treat for young mothers, a day to
visit Mom for those who can do that, an extra long phone call or flowers
or some surprise for the distant, and a day of prayers for those who are
deceased.
May the Lord Jesus Christ be with our mothers, living and deceased. May
he go before them to lead them and follow after them to give them
strength. May he watch over them, keep them in his care, and bless them
with his peace. Amen. |
