Lost Tears

For every sixty second’s beyond curfew, I was my mother. For every forced realization that the truth is not always what you hear, I was my mother. For every inconsiderate moment or word spoken in haste, I was my mother. And for every time my rules and my way was not the most popular way, I was my mother. 

Though my children are 20 and 29 years old, there are still discussions about right and wrong, the value of respecting the opinions of others, and practicing what we preach. There are still conversations that feel confrontational and thought processes that do not agree. There are days when all of the above make me tired and weary. And then there are days, when I’m feeling the most misunderstood and trampled upon, that my pouting is brought to light with clear and precise images that make me aware of just how wonderful my children are, and just how good my life is at any given time.

As I watched the national television news the other night, better than ten minutes of the coverage was about the earthquake in Nepal. All of the news stations have been covering this horror story since it began, but that particular segment that particular evening was about a mother who had been standing watch for over eight hours that day as they dug through the ruins, looking for her eight year old son who had been missing since the tragic quake.

The look of devastation that was tightly sealed on her face, was the most heart-breaking image imaginable. For 24 hours prior, she had told the men digging, that she knew approximately where her son had been standing when it all began, and she thought she could hear his cries under the rubble. That last ten minutes of coverage would be when they turned to the mother and said, “No, we are sorry, your son is not here, and we have looked all we can look today”.

She did not cry, but even worse, she stood there with such a pained expression that did not move, but stayed frozen on her face for so long, that it would cause wonder as to whether her face would ever look any different again; if that moment in time would ever remove itself from her mind, her heart or her face.

Those are the realities that nightmares are made of for any parent, but it seems especially so for a mother.  I have spent so many sleepless nights worrying about my children getting from one place to another, safe and secure. But never have I been the woman standing in a pile of rubble for as far as the eye could see, and believing that I could hear my child crying, but truly knowing, that I would never dry his tears again.

Only a woman knows the all-encompassing love of a mother. Happy Mother’s Day to all the beautiful women who have loved and raised a child. Tell your mother, you love her the most, every chance you get, forever and always.