Over the last 10-15 years, I have dreaded Mother’s Day. It ranks right up there with Swim suit shopping day and picture day. Being a mother has been my dream since I was four-years-old when my favorite book was “Little Mommy.” The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, The Waltons, and The Little House on the Prairie were the shows that we watched every week. It was easy for me to imagine having my own family. But, what really defines “family?”
Although I’ve never carried or delivered a child, I was blessed with step-children, god-children, nieces and nephews, and many youth from my 18 years involved in youth ministry. But none of them called me, “Mom.” That fact ruined a decade of Mother’s Days but as I’ve lately seen several young adults lose their mothers, it has helped me focus on the day’s real purpose.
My mother is still alive. I’m actually with her today. She gave me life, cared for me, raised me, came to every event in which I participated, and still calls regularly, prepares the annual Valentine’s cheesecake, Easter bunny carrot cake, and Christmas stocking for me. She really is the greatest.
I’m no longer feeling sorry for myself on this day but celebrating the life of the one that raised me. So, no more writing for me. I’m off to spend a beautiful day with my mother.
Living Over The Hill 
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