© jb katke

My assignment is nearly complete. I will confess it wasn’t an easy one.

My son requested I write about my mother. She died when he was a young boy. The task brings up memories, some that had been long forgotten. Others tended to be painful, only because it put me in a bad light. I suppose that cannot be helped, and chose not to add those to her memoir.

As a daughter, everything is written through my eyes. The memories bring twenty-twenty hindsight of an immature child. Today I know better than to say and do what I did then.

Mom did the best she could without access to child psychologists or You Tube to come to her aid. She never held an infant in her arms until my brother was born. Being the firstborn, he broke the ice of motherhood. Although, probably nothing could have probably prepared her for me. Don’t you find it interesting how different siblings can be while having the same parents, growing up with the same experiences together?  

As I wrote, my mind traveled back to those last days of her life. Reliving them, watching her weaken as time went by. Mom passed away at the ripe old age of sixty-one. By todays standard, that’s young.

We are about to celebrate the mothers in our life. It used to be we only had one, and in some cases, still is. But the adopted child is doubly blessed; born in the womb by one, and in the heart of another. Both equally vital. Then there are step mothers that have to outlive the stigma of being evil. Not all of them are you know.

Let’s not forget our mother-in-law. Mine was a keeper. She raised the man I fell in love with and married. Have you ever thanked yours for your man? I did and would recommend doing it, your words will be much appreciated. It’s not easy building a little boy into a loving, responsible husband. Particularly if yours is a single mom, trying to fill the role of two parents. I haven’t forgotten we are honoring mothers today, but there is much to be said for a dad in the house too; setting a manly example.

All this to say I salute you mothers. Wear you badge proudly. It’s unfortunate that with our badges come tired eyes, thunder thighs, saggy breasts, and varicose veins. Oh yes, wrinkles too. It’s okay, you have earned them all through years of service and self-sacrifice.

Keep in mind, Jesus doesn’t make mistakes, not with the children under your roof, not your appearance. Both of them give us something to work with. Yes?

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