This week has been poignantly about mothers. Everywhere I turned, there was a story about a mother of someone I know, or a mother I know with a story. A mother lost, a mother ill, a mother teaching a life lesson or a mother once again proving that nothing compares to a mother's love.
Our mothers have radar. And don't ever think that it isn't true! They know when something is on our minds, when we're hurting or when we need to be stopped, set straight, and then sent back on our merry way. They lead when necessary, support when necessary, nurture always and push - gently or not - in the direction of success. They are the backbone of family life, the glue that is strong but elastic enough for you to grow under their wing. Ask a man about his mother or grandmother, and you'll get more words out of him than you ever thought him capable of. Don't tell me about comic book superheroes. Tell me about mothers - now there is a strong character if I've ever seen one.
I come from a long line of strong women. Strong women that turned into strong mothers. My paternal grandmother was a tough woman. While my grandfather ruled the world outside of the home, she ruled the bee's nest and all that went along with raising five children. Though she later got sick, she still managed to keep those youngsters in line for 14 years from the confines of her wheelchair. Just ask my dad if his mother kept him in line. Mobility never stopped a woman from watching over her brood.
My great grandmother Eve was English. She was engaged to an earl when she came to vacation in Egypt, only to meet the owner of the hotel she was staying in - my great grandfather Mikhail Hedra - and never go back! Just like that, she found the life she wanted and took it by the horns. She raised two amazing sons; and my grandfather James will always be a role model of a man for me: strong, sensitive, and appreciative of the women in his life. My maternal grandmother was one of those women. The younger of two sisters, her father died when she was still very young. Raised in a family of women, she was playful, witty and headstrong. In a time where women were expected to depend on the man, she did not fall into the arms of the first man who came knocking. Instead, she made Grandpa James - then young, handsome and very suave - work for her heart and affections, and then lived a life of equal love and laughter, always every bit of the matriarch of the family. A tough cookie herself, she raised my mother, who once was shy and soft spoken, to also be a strong woman, becoming a doctor who often chose the road less traveled in her career and life. Together with my dad, she wove a life of adventure right before my eyes, and I learned through her that no challenge is too great, if you set your eyes on it. Over time, and though her mother drove her crazy and she might not want to admit it, my mother is becoming more and more like her own mother. And I - whether I like to recognize it or not - catch myself evolving into my mother day in and day out.
That's why when someone's mother passes or is ill, they're all out of sorts. Their balance is off. Even for those who had a less-than-perfect mom, you can see how that causes a crack in the order of things. Mothers are the lens through which we see life. Find a happy child and you will find a strong and loving mother right behind. And if God hasn't blessed a person with a great mother, you can almost always bet there was a great grandmother right behind to pick up the slack.
Tonight's post is about those of us with our mothers on our minds. Mothers who dote on us. Mothers who needs us to dote on them for a change. Mothers gone. This is for them.
