A Mother's Day Reflection
A man's perspective on Mother's Day has been changed forever last night. I sat up in the bed typing my post "Let It Shine" about Tracie's experience with her first Mother's Day while Tracie called my mom to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. It was getting late. Sydney was sleeping lightly next to me, so Tracie was almost whispering when she called my mom. Mom. I like the sound of that so much more than Mother or Mommy or Mama. "Mother" sounds ostentatious and a lot like legal-ese. Mommy and Mama simply sound too childish. I think it means that I have finally gotten past puberty mentally and accepted my role as head of a household. Taking away just a syllable somehow renders an occasional "I want my Mom" slightly more mature than the whinny "I want my Mommy". Going once; going twice. Sold to the mature, graying man wearing the pink bunny pajama bottom sitting next to the little girl sleeping in her pink coverall with the green frogs! My mom will be called Mom from now on.
Tracie was letting my mom know that we are printing some digital pictures of Sydney to send to her and my dad to see how Sydney is growing. They live too far away for us to visit frequently so we are trying to go see them this Christmas. In the meantime, we wanted her to at least hear the description of Sydney from my dad looking at the pictures and telling her what he saw. Poor mom's eyes have been ravaged by macular degeneration. There is nothing any doctor can do for her to restore some of her vision. She sees nothing but blurs now. She tells me that viewing things through a large magnifying glass or putting on bright lights no longer helps. She can no longer do some of the things she loves. She can no longer cook, and my mom is a FANTASTIC cook. Most of the time, she places the pot halfway off the burner on the stove and risk toppling the content over on herself. She can no longer watch TV, read a book or look at photographs. She can't even see who she is talking to. It was sad the last time I visited my mom. I was sitting in the living room with a couple of my brothers and nephews. She came out of the bedroom and walked directly up to one of us. She leaned within a couple of feet from one of our faces and spoke a few words. Then she suddenly stopped and asked, "Which one are you?" Mom can't tell us apart without hearing our voices. She had to make sure she was speaking to me, which of course, she wasn't. She was embarrassed, but I was sad. Mom will never see Sydney's beautiful smile.
Mom's hearing is still keen. Oh, she can hear perfectly well even with just one good ear. She somehow managed to puncture one of her ear drums several years ago, which got infected, and completely lost her hearing on that side. We try to tell her everything when we call. She heard Sydney's first soft whimper in the recovery room at the hospital after she was born. I called Mom on the cell phone as soon as we got settle in the room. A few weeks ago, she heard one of Sydney's infamous wails when she was hungry. Mom happened to be on the phone for that. Once Sydney has made audible cooing noises consistently, I will be sure to dial up Mom for give her a sample. I stopped typing on the laptop computer for a few minutes to watch Tracie describe the weekend's events to my mom. I can tell Mom was thrilled to get the play-by-play from Tracie. I am a lot like my mom in that I have a vivid imagination. I am sure Mom could picture images of Sydney and reveled in the occasion. I was never so glad to know that Mom can still hear. It is the one thread that still physically links us across the miles.
I have been taken Mother's Day for granted all these years. Sure I send flowers or a card then follow up with a phone call every year but it was perfunctory as another holiday drummed up by the business world to make money from consumers. With Tracie chatting and laughing with Mom in the background, I no longer see it as just another holiday. Mom and Tracie get along spectacularly. I was never so grateful as I was last night for the bonds between my mom and me, between Mom and Tracie, and now between Mom and little Sydney. Having witnessed the birth of my daughter, I see now why mothers deserved to be honored. My mom gave birth to almost a dozen of us. That was SOME FEAT. I haven't told Mom that I love her lately. I better do it tonight. Who knows when she might not get to hear these words through her one good ear from my own lips again.
One final thought before I drifted off to sleep last night, after speaking to Mom personally to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. I haven't told her that I planted a small blue hydrangea plant next to my house in her honor a couple of years ago. She loves them. I always think of her whenever I see a blue hydrangea bush in bloom. I think she will be glad to know that her baby boy (that's me) thinks fondly of her often and will do his best to make sure his family does the same. Every year, my hydrangea bush blooms sensationally. This year, it explodes with large blooms on every stem. It blooms for Mom.
Tracie was letting my mom know that we are printing some digital pictures of Sydney to send to her and my dad to see how Sydney is growing. They live too far away for us to visit frequently so we are trying to go see them this Christmas. In the meantime, we wanted her to at least hear the description of Sydney from my dad looking at the pictures and telling her what he saw. Poor mom's eyes have been ravaged by macular degeneration. There is nothing any doctor can do for her to restore some of her vision. She sees nothing but blurs now. She tells me that viewing things through a large magnifying glass or putting on bright lights no longer helps. She can no longer do some of the things she loves. She can no longer cook, and my mom is a FANTASTIC cook. Most of the time, she places the pot halfway off the burner on the stove and risk toppling the content over on herself. She can no longer watch TV, read a book or look at photographs. She can't even see who she is talking to. It was sad the last time I visited my mom. I was sitting in the living room with a couple of my brothers and nephews. She came out of the bedroom and walked directly up to one of us. She leaned within a couple of feet from one of our faces and spoke a few words. Then she suddenly stopped and asked, "Which one are you?" Mom can't tell us apart without hearing our voices. She had to make sure she was speaking to me, which of course, she wasn't. She was embarrassed, but I was sad. Mom will never see Sydney's beautiful smile.
Mom's hearing is still keen. Oh, she can hear perfectly well even with just one good ear. She somehow managed to puncture one of her ear drums several years ago, which got infected, and completely lost her hearing on that side. We try to tell her everything when we call. She heard Sydney's first soft whimper in the recovery room at the hospital after she was born. I called Mom on the cell phone as soon as we got settle in the room. A few weeks ago, she heard one of Sydney's infamous wails when she was hungry. Mom happened to be on the phone for that. Once Sydney has made audible cooing noises consistently, I will be sure to dial up Mom for give her a sample. I stopped typing on the laptop computer for a few minutes to watch Tracie describe the weekend's events to my mom. I can tell Mom was thrilled to get the play-by-play from Tracie. I am a lot like my mom in that I have a vivid imagination. I am sure Mom could picture images of Sydney and reveled in the occasion. I was never so glad to know that Mom can still hear. It is the one thread that still physically links us across the miles.
I have been taken Mother's Day for granted all these years. Sure I send flowers or a card then follow up with a phone call every year but it was perfunctory as another holiday drummed up by the business world to make money from consumers. With Tracie chatting and laughing with Mom in the background, I no longer see it as just another holiday. Mom and Tracie get along spectacularly. I was never so grateful as I was last night for the bonds between my mom and me, between Mom and Tracie, and now between Mom and little Sydney. Having witnessed the birth of my daughter, I see now why mothers deserved to be honored. My mom gave birth to almost a dozen of us. That was SOME FEAT. I haven't told Mom that I love her lately. I better do it tonight. Who knows when she might not get to hear these words through her one good ear from my own lips again.
One final thought before I drifted off to sleep last night, after speaking to Mom personally to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. I haven't told her that I planted a small blue hydrangea plant next to my house in her honor a couple of years ago. She loves them. I always think of her whenever I see a blue hydrangea bush in bloom. I think she will be glad to know that her baby boy (that's me) thinks fondly of her often and will do his best to make sure his family does the same. Every year, my hydrangea bush blooms sensationally. This year, it explodes with large blooms on every stem. It blooms for Mom.
posted by DaddyEyeduck at 7:55 AM
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