Moms

You wouldn't know it to look at her, hair unbrushed, pulled up in a messy bun. Her clothes are several years old and covered in baby spit up and other unknown stains. Her eyes are fierce with love and heavy with fatigue. She wears no cape, isn't called by a light in the sky but by a baby’s middle of the night cry or a teenager ‘s phone call. 

No, you wouldn't know it to look at her, but she is a hero. To the newborn on her chest, looking at her with eyes full of love and wonder, she is everything. To the toddler, curled on her lap, exhausted by the day, she is a safe place. To the child struggling with homework, she is a teacher. To the preteen experiencing the first of many heartbreaks, she is a counselor. To the teen who calls her when a party gets out of hand, she is security. To the adult getting ready to have a first child, she is an example.

All these things and so much more, she is a hero. 

“You can do it. Just a bit more and the baby will be here.” Somewhere, she finds the strength to keep pushing. 

“Mommy's here,” a yawn as she lifts the baby up, adjusting her clothes to place him at her breast. It is the fourth time and it is just two am. Baby is going through a growth spurt so she finds a bit more to see to him..

“No! You can't have that!” A chase around the room to retrieve a fragile vase from a greedy toddler hand. Up higher it goes and she finds a bit more patience.

“Mommy will always love you. The new baby won't stop that.” She reassures, as the day approaches. Her child believes her. Mommy always has love. 

Seeing her first baby hold her second, her heart grows. How it is possible to love them more, she doesn't know, she just knows she does. That is what moms do.

Walking the halls, holding her feverish child, waiting on the medicine to work, she finds more strength in her fatigued arms. “It is okay. Mommy has you. Everything is going to be okay.”

“No, I don't care what you think is best. This is my daughter! You will not make her use her right hand. She is left handed. That is that.” The door slams behind her as she leaves the classroom, her child ‘s defender.

“Yes kiddo, I love you enough to relearn algebra for you.” She teases as she looks up how to solve for x. Her son rolls his eyes but inside he is smiling. His mom will do anything for him.

A third load of laundry, a pick up from school when the nurse calls, back home to switch the laundry out, making soup for a sick tummy. More laundry with a vomiting child. Doctors, Pedialyte°, a few sleepless nights before her baby is well again. Back to school means back to work, catching up on all a sick kiddo won't allow to get done. It is all in a week's work for our hero.

“Owe, no biting mommy.” Pulling the little vampire away, debating weaning but knowing the breast is better than the bottle.

“No, you must sit on the potty. I know you have to wee. Just a bit longer.” Only to have the little one pee on the floor as soon as he stands up.

“I hate you!” A slammed door echoes through the house. Her heart breaks. Oh she knows that it is just part of the teen years, that necessary pulling away. Words still hurt. Still she cooks dinner, feeds her family, supervises homework without having anyone see how much it hurts.

“I got accepted. It is my dream school!” Even as she celebrates with her, she thinks, ‘ it is so far away.’ Her job is to get them independent. No one tells you though how much that hurts. A well done job will break her heart.

Tears fall as she watches her son become a man, a husband. She adores her daughter -in-law. Still, she is taking her baby away. Swallowing hard, she feels such pride as they take their vows. He will always be her baby. It is just now he is her husband. The circle of life continues.

Holding her first grandchild, joy beyond measure fills her. This is the reward for all the teenage drama. This new little one who is hers but much more theirs. Her child is a parent. Now they will understand.

“Mom, thank you. Thank you for all the sleepless nights, the packed lunches and wiped noses. Thank you for the homework help, the long talks, for staying in my business even as I pushed you away. For being my mom. I love you. You're my hero.”

You never know what you have until it's gone. That is never more true than when you lose a parent. It doesn't matter how old you are, there is never a time you don't need your mom. When she isn't on the other end of the line, when you can't walk in her house and hug her, when she can't meet your baby’s baby, that is true grief. 

If only you could go back and tell her all the things she meant to you. All the things you should have said over the years. If only you could thank her for all she did. 

I get it. There are always things left unsaid. As you experience new things, things you want to share with her, that list grows. Trust me. She knows. She knows how much you love her and appreciate her. Still, if your mom is still a phone call or a visit away, please, go tell her. 

Thank her for being a hero, for all the things she did and does. You will never regret it, unless you don't say all you wish to say. 

Go. Call. Now. Because even heroes need a thank you every once in a while.