February 29, 2016 - She never did care for pie

She was getting on the elevator when I heard her call my name. Her's is a smile and demeanor you notice. She’s quiet in passing, but her smile can light a room. And every single time, no matter the time delay since your last greeting, she remembers your name. That alone says it all. Prior to today, I simply knew her name and employment. We worked in the same division. Today, I know her battle.  We chatted about it in the 3 minutes we shared the elevator ride. She was on her way to meet her daughter, 35 years old and battling newly discovered breast cancer. It’s the story, like that of the spouse, often not told….The Mother.


Mother - that was the bank where we deposited all our hurts and worries.
— T. DEWITT TALMAGE
A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.
— TENNEVA JORDAN

I currently have 4 active stories in mind where the role of the mother has encompassed my heart. All of the daughters are adults (married; most with kids of their own) and yet as their life hits crisis, their mothers step into the familiar role of “motherhood” all over again. For one friend when she faced mastectomy, her mother moved in for a bit to help with the day to day tasks of life. For a coworker, who broke both ankles on a business trip, her mother flew the 6+ hour flight to help her navigate healthcare in a different state and then stayed with her to get her back home. For this other coworker I shared an elevator ride with whose adult daughter faces breast cancer, she now travels over to meet her for every appointment. Then there is my own mother who has never missed a single surgery. She arrives with a “surgery bag” in tow and stays for the long haul. She brings food. She brings dad. She brings….familiarity and understanding. After the initial mastectomy she moved in for several days to simply help Ron and I stay afloat. She went on a bra shopping spree to find something that would work. There's so much she did that can't be fully covered by the stroke of this key. Could we have done it without her? Absolutely. But we never had to because she is my mom. No matter how old I get she is my mom. And one thing you need in at least some capacity during mastectomy (or miscarriage, or diagnosis, or whatnot)…is a mom…whether either you or she know it or not.

It’s these selfless acts of motherhood that can get you through life. Be it when you are 5 and you just got bubble gum in your hair, you are 17 and he broke your heart, you are 37 and you are facing mastectomy. You are never too old to benefit from the love of a mother. It’s nothing you don’t already know. Mothers simply have this way of making any situation feel safe. They can at a moment's notice abandon the current moment in their life to support you as your traverse yours.  They simply can't wait to buy the plane ticket to get there! I also recognize not everyone has this relationship with their mother and for that it makes me tearful, but for those of us that do, life is a little richer and a little fuller because we have a mother that is willing to pull herself into our current mayhem to help pull us back out.

Having been on this wonderful receiving end of navigating mastectomy and oh so much more in life with my mom, I also find myself reflecting on the other vantage point….hers. I think I caught a glimpse of that in greater detail these past few weeks (hearing of the mother traveling to be with her daughter sporting two broken ankles; meeting this friend in the elevator on her way to her daughter’s appointment; speaking with a lady who is really having to go above and beyond in a specific situation). I saw it in her eyes in the glow of the elevator light as she told me of her daughter’s diagnosis and medical course. I felt the pride in another mom’s social media posts as she announces they are traveling back home. I envision it as I think of my own mom sitting in the waiting room time after time while I am on the OR table. I foreshadow it as I watch some of you raising your young daughters. What will life bring their way that propels you back into “motherhood” after they are all grown up? And what surges through your mind as your daughter faces life? There’s no doubt love, and selflessness, and pride, and fear, and care, and devotions, but I also know there is something else there I may never fully understand. I'm simply grateful God gives me a glimpse into it every now and then as I see these mothers doing life moments with their daughters. And praise God that there are mothers out there who get it. They know when to dive in, the know when to dive out. And they know when you just may need them even when you didn't know you did. If you are a mom reading this wondering if your daughter wants you to reach out...do. If you are a daughter reading this and wondering if your current situation might benefit from a moment with dear ole mom...you will. 

There will never be a moment in life where we find we no longer need you. We may marry and transfer our worlds from your home to his, or we may move to the other span of the ocean but we will always have specific roles for you that only you can fill. We may have children of our own and start focusing our attention more acutely down the family tree than up, but certain life events will propel us back into needing the “bank of mom” in which we can deposit our worries and triumphs. We will even one day lose the physical you, but in your absence, we will have moments where memories of shared words will come back to mind and get us through to the next life moment. The timeline is being traversed and though your role morphs as we go you are always our mother and know exactly when to step back up to the plate.

Thanks for giving us your piece of pie. It simply makes life events more readily overcome. 




(Please pray for these families above. They certainly have a lot on their Life Plate.)
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1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Not a dry thread on my shirt! Love you, love your MOM, loved my MOM! Prayers for the families you mentioned.

Polly Morgan