My mother whose nickname is Tennessee Sweetie is one of the best things about my life.
No one has ever heard my mother raise her voice. She never had to. Her ability to raise an eyebrow was enough to keep me and my rambunctious brothers in line. That and the threat "I'm going to tell your father when he gets home."
I was a grown woman before I discovered that all mothers were not like mine. My wasband's mother was a textbook example of why giving birth does not a mother make. I've since learned that not having a mother who loves you as you need to be loved has long and far reaching consequences.
I feel like I won the Mama lotto.
My mother is the definition of both strength and grace. I still call her Mama.
In her house there were words never to be used. Lie was one of them. In my mother's house no one lied. They told 'stories'. I think sometimes her ban of the word liar, encouraged me to write 'stories'.
We are so different, my mother and I. I believe my wasband's deepest disappointment came on the day when he realized I was not going to grow up to be like my mother. Where she loved taking care of an waiting on her husband, she did everything she could to make sure I would not. She claims purpose in making sure I would be a different kind of woman. She nurtured in me a different kind of strength and another brand of grace. She says she always wanted me to feel free to speak my mind and say what I needed to say. Fearlessly. Quietly. Something that came for her later life. Even so, she still never raises her voice. This came for me later in life.
She won't even spell a four letter word. She does however giggle like a young girl when she hears me swear. I was past fifty before I ever slipped and said 'shit' in her presence.
When it became fashionable for some mothers to become 'friends' with their daughters, my mother was clear with me. She loved me, but she was not my buddy. She was my mother. Mother is a title she loved and we respected.
When I became a mother myself, I did my best to give to my children what my mother gave to me. A sense of being loved and accepted. My mother managed to convince all of her children that we are her favorite child. In our family my brothers and I argue because we each believe in our heart of hearts that we are indeed her favorite child. I love that my brothers think she loves them as much as she loves me.
So to all you mothers out there, whether you have children or have birthed a life worth living, I salute you. Motherhood is hard work. Often it is thankless. I am thanking you.
I thank all of you who have endured. All of you who have either birthed babies or a dream. Male and female who have cared for and nurtured their families.
One of the things my mother taught me by example is it is never too late to give birth to your dreams. They are the children of the heart and deserve our intention, focus and nurturing. No one need be childless.
Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers.
Now run and tell that.
Editors Note
I am leaving for Chicago. My father is in hospice. My mother is by his side. I will join her and my brothers as we say goodbye to him. Family style. There will likely not be a SistahSpeak next Friday, but I'll be back the week after.
Amazinggrace did another bang up job with the news today. Enjoy.
News by Amazinggrace SistahSpeak News Editor
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