My son is an athlete and this weekend he broke his hand. He most likely needs surgery and he’ll be out for the season. He has a good attitude about the injury, and in his attitude I see how much he’s grown, how much he’s learned in these past few years that we’ve had together. We truly have learned to turn a challenge into an opportunity. There’s no sitting down here; we’re moving forward. Rather, he’s moving forward. Sometimes I forget that I am not him and he is not me. I forget that he has become a man. They tell me this is normal mother-thinking. Every day I’m learning to be a mother. In moments like this, in times such as this, I believe that I have become a mother.
I’m very protective of the children who depend on me.
I never thought that I’d be called mom, and now that I answer to that call, every time I hear that sacred name, I get chills and I’m taken outside of myself and into another realm. That name “mom” sends me to a plane of gratitude. Hearing the word uttered, no matter what the tone may be, makes me happy beyond the description I try to so desperately convey.
I wanted to belong, to feel needed, and now that I’m called “mom” I attest that my purpose has been realized.
If I sound like a cliche, please do forgive as I relish in this small window of wonder, as it is so swiftly passing.
Soon my child(ren) will be off and gone and I will again be that woman searching….