Nearly
23 years have gone by since I first became a mother. I remember that day well … and yet I
don’t. I remember bits and pieces – the
fact that I was rushed by ambulance to Mayo Clinic because I had pre-eclampsia
and the fact that my husband drove an hour through dense fog with my parents, probably
under a great deal of stress with concern for both me and our unborn
child. I remember that our first child,
a son, was born at 10:03 pm the following night. I vividly remember his innocent blue eyes, filled
with adoring bewilderment, gazing up at me from the swaddled comfort of his blanket;
and I remember my own awe, wondering who he was and who he would someday become. I also recall a twinge of anxiety knowing
that being a mother would be the most important (and rewarding) job I would
ever have in this life. But I don’t
remember the pain – drugs may have helped – but one way or another the joys of
motherhood overshadowed and lured me back in a few years later with the birth
of our second and youngest child, a daughter, who would steal our hearts forever
and make our family complete.
I
vowed from very early on that I would give motherhood my all, I would remember
every moment, and my goal was to make memories for my children that would last
for a lifetime. I’ve spent the majority of the years devoting my time,
aiming to be present, soaking up every moment and savoring every detail. Throughout the years, we made a plethora of
memories – living everyday moments, sharing family meals, playing games and going
on Sunday drives. We made holiday
traditions and enjoyed annual family vacations.
My husband and I attended nearly every event, game and concert and
witnessed the milestones. I’ve always
been well aware that children are only young for a fleeting moment and the
years are gone in the blink of an eye. The
joys of motherhood are forever engrained in my heart – the sweet scent of
infancy, the pitter patter of toddler feet, the urgency of little arms
wrapped around my neck, the sensation of their soft heads against my cheek
while I read them a story, and the warmth of their bodies nestled in my arms as
they fell asleep at night. Like all
mothers, some of the day-to-day details seem to have escaped my memory, but they
are still there – patiently waiting at the tip of my senses, continually bringing
me back from time to time. Stories shared
in laughter or particular sights, smells or sounds tenderly expose glimpses of
years gone by. The smell of fresh air
breathes life into images of their middle years as they ran inside after
playing with neighborhood friends. The
slam of a car door renders my relief from their teenage years of knowing they
were safe under my roof once again. A
walk around our house, yard or neighborhood tends to send my memories dancing
like childlike spirits wanting to come out to play.
After all these years, I’ve forgotten
some of the pieces that were not so perfectly fit to remember. I’ve given in to the fact that our house was
far less than immaculate, my cooking skills were lacking (a lot), and my voice may
have raised in anger more times than I care to admit. Despite my best efforts, there were still
some moments of exhaustion, of busyness and haste, a few failures, tears and
mistakes. But I don’t recall what could have
made me raise my voice, and I’ve no idea what “to-do” could have been worth
keeping busy. Somehow, I’ve mostly
forgotten the less than pleasant moments, and I hope my kids have done the
same. Although in jest, they lovingly won’t
let me forget the time I ran over my son’s favorite dump truck in the driveway
or the time I forgot to send my daughter’s snow pants to school one wintery day. But in my mind, this just shows we have
connection, share a history and can find humor in the memories we share. In the end, I can only hope that their childhood
memories are outnumbered with moments of happiness and laughter and with feelings
of contentment, encouragement and love.
I believe it was Maya Angelou who
once said "People will forget what you said, people will forget what you
did ... but people will never forget how you made them feel." So my advice to young mothers is this - if
you’re doing your best, then mamas, don’t worry. Savor the good and let go of the rest. Be present with your children but go easy on
yourself. Give them your time, your attention and your
love. Provide them with comfort and
security. Encourage them and assure they
never forget they are enough, they are worth it, and they are loved.
We recently moved our son to a new
city to start his full-time career and our daughter headed off to college again
this fall. Together, we made additional family
memories while planning and organizing, packing and moving. As each of our children begin to spread their
wings, I fear that I have forgotten something … did they pack all they need, will
they have enough to eat? More
importantly, did I teach them enough through the years - did I give the right advice? Will they call me if they need me? Did I provide them with deep rooted memories
and love - enough to carry along into their futures and last throughout their
lifetimes? I hope they mostly remember
the good, like I do. I hope I made them
feel special, safe and secure ... and I hope they never forget how much they
were (and always will be) loved.
