My Two Mothers

This month's topic for blogging is 'remembering our mothers'.

I have two--my birth mother and my step-mother.

I have to think really hard to remember my birth mother because she passed away when I was 9 after a battle with breast cancer.

Many of the incidents I remember with her were disciplinary ones. LOL! I remember how she would make me stomp up and down the stairs when I was angry until I grew tired. I remember wooden spoons broken across my rear end. (That was considered the norm back then.)

I remember a time when I was sick (I don't remember with what or for how long), and she brought me a doll to keep me company. I remember her dedication to Brownies (Girl Guides). She was a brown owl when we lived in Toronto and would often take me with her. I remember coming home from those Brownie nights to hot chocolate and cinnamon toast--that is toast with melted butter and cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top (if you haven't tried I strongly recommend it).

I remember how she cried when we received word that my grandmother had been killed in a car accident. I remember how she let me lick out the mixing bowl when she was baking.

My last memory of her was as we were visiting her in the hospital. I was kind of afraid to see her, but I snuck down the hallway--away from the puzzles I had been keeping myself occupied with in the sunroom (I think it was of hot air balloons)--and peeked around the doorway. The room was filled with monitors and cords, and my mother's bed was surrounded by people. The one emotion I remember feeling was fear--fear because I was in a scary place to me (a hospital), but fear as well that the woman on the bed was my mother, and yet she didn't look like my mother.

My mother died in November of that year (1982). In June of that year we were transferred to London, Ontario. There, my dad met the woman who would become my step-mother. It was not an easy transition. She was getting used to me. I was getting used to her. I was strong willed and stubborn. So was she.

But, despite all this, she looked after me when I had the chicken pox and I think that was the point I realized I needed a mother, still.

There have always been battles between us, particularly with my teenage hormones coming into play. There were many times I was frustrated with her for the things she would say and do. But, now I understand she did the things she did because I have children of my own.

There are still things that annoy me about my mother now that we're adults: she's usually the pessimist, I'm usually the optimist. So, naturally we clash. But, there is a love there that has been 25 years in the making.

Breaking the Circle by K.R. Pinkston

Who needs Mother’s Day? Every spring we hear the same commercials, urging children of all ages to purchase a box of chocolates, a bouquet of flowers and, of course, the obligatory card. Mothers will be celebrated for giving life and bearing years of sacrifices to raise their children. I will give my mother a gift, and my child will give me a gift. The circle of life.

I did not think I needed that reminder, but that was before I heard Mara’s story. She broke the circle of life.

“It wasn’t supposed to be that way,” she told me one day. Her eyes fixated on a row of drawings that I had taped on the kitchen door. On Mother’s Day I will get another drawing, maybe two, from our son depicting maybe a house, some flowers and a tree. Oh yes – I almost forgot – somewhere on the picture will be a Pokemon. In his mind, you have to draw a Pokemon whenever you can.

Mara shook her head. “We wanted to have two kids. Well, at least two. Gosh, we wasted a bunch of money on all sorts of fertility treatments. Nothing worked. Nothing whatsoever.” She sighed and took a sip of coffee. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

I chewed my lips. Should I tell her that we also wanted to have two kids? Tell her that I understood her feelings? But how could I understand her if I was blessed with a child? “I’m sorry,” I said instead.

“No, it’s fine now.” Mara forced a smile. “Really. Chris and I love our freedom. We try to see the positive side of not having to raise kids. It’s just difficult sometimes when you live in a military community, you know.”

I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant. “Yes, a lot of pregnant young women and little kids everywhere.”

Mara nodded and pointed at the drawings. “What on earth are those little creatures supposed to be?”

This conversation happened months ago, but I cannot get it out of my mind. I know there are many women who wish to hold a baby in their arms. You pray and plead with God. You swallow tablets, herbs, a cocktail of daily vitamins and teas. You try acupuncture, yoga, ovulation prediction kits, and chart your temperatures. You crave a cup of coffee in the morning but drink water instead. Just in case. Every month you hold onto the straw. Then the blood comes and with it the tears.

Often, you suffer this hurt in secret. You can eat, sleep and think. You are healthy and smart. Who needs to know that you cannot get pregnant? Instead, you smile and tell people that you are still working on your career, that you have decided to wait a few more years and that you are happy right now.

I know. I used to be one of those women.

On Mother’s Day I would give my mom a bouquet of flowers and wish her a happy day. That was it. No card, no hugs, no drawings for me. Every year she would say that I should not have spent the money and that Mother’s Day was just a big commercial fuss.

Yes, I needed Mara’s reminder. Being able to give birth to a child is not a given fact of a woman’s life. It is a blessing. Many women will hug their mothers this month, grateful for all the sacrifices and challenges their mothers have endured. Many will be praying this month that one day their own child will hug them.

My heart goes out to all of you who wish to become mothers. May God answer your prayers.