Honor thy mother

My parents, circa 1985

Most years, we don't do much, and I'm not in it for the goodies. Frankly, this year, with a few adversities and health problems, I'd really rather have everyone happy and healthy than any flowers or candy.

Okay, you got me -- I'm a little envious of my friend who got Chocolate Seduction ice cream as an early gift.

I love being a mom every day. I celebrate my kids every day. I'm confident I'm a great mom -- loving, supportive and often fun. I'm very focused on my children's education -- scholastic, moral, spiritual and practical. I don't need gifts and accolades. The ideal Mother's Day gift would be to have my children finally see one of my plays on stage and know that I am somebody. To realize that there's more to mom than there is to mom.

I was born to a sixteen year old high school junior who made the courageous choice to relinquish me for adoption. I'm not saying it's the right choice for every teen mom, but for one who does not have parental support, mentoring and guidance, it is most likely the best choice.

The woman who raised me was a confluence of Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, Indira Ghandi and Georgia O'Keefe. Talented, graceful, beautiful, intelligent, wise, and (gasp) a proponent of human rights, especially women's rights. One of the few times I saw her cry, really cry, was on the night the ERA was defeated.

She has little in common with Grace Kelly, except that she was gone too soon, at age 47, and like Princess Stephanie, I was there when it happened.

It wasn't a crash, it was Eisenmenger Syndrome -- a fatal hole in the heart that caused high blood pressure in her lungs. Really, without a heart/lung transplant, she, and we, were fortunate she made it to 47. But I was there when she collapsed and I didn't save her and it's affected my life since then, though I quit blaming myself.

It wasn't my intention for the blog to be sad. The thing about my mother is that she had her own life. She was very devoted, taking me to the library, to the symphony, to League of Women Voters meetings.

She was a brilliant decorative artist and taught classes in that art form in our basement.

The point is, she didn't give up who she was to be my mom. She worked every day to become who she was, who God meant her to be, to be excellent and original, so I had someone to look up to.

I think mother guilt in our age of child-centeredness has taken that away from so many mothers. When did society ask mothers to give up who they are because their children are more important? Who really is more valuable?

It's one thing to make sacrifices, but quite another to commit soul suicide in the name of love and devotion.

Is it not a more loving choice to give a child a full, beautiful, complicated, fulfilled individual as a primary role model?

The documentary shown at Arts on Grand Thursday night explored this very topic. We had a nice, small turnout and a great discussion afterward of how far a mother should go to find creative fulfillment. Joy and satisfaction are important, but a mother does make sacrifices once she brings life into the world, or chooses to care for an adopted child.

Whether you make your mother breakfast in bed, take her out for brunch, attend church with her, buy her flowers, treats, jewelry or a set of crystal wine glasses (my father always bought my mother a pair of those as his thanks to her for being my mother) a wonderful gift you can give your mother is seeing her as a whole person, and not just someone who exists on your behalf.

Love your mother, laugh with your mother, and know that she is ultimately in your corner. Permanently. Just as you're in her heart.