Mother’s Day

I grew up with the kind of mom who spent weeks using spray paint and Styrofoam to create the type of Halloween costumes that won the school contest every year.  I had the kind of mom who made a home-cooked meal for dinner every night; the kind of mom who vacuumed every day.  She was the kind of mom who wouldn’t leave the house without makeup, but also the kind of mom who would wipe off her makeup in a heartbeat to jump in the pool and swim with us.

My mom was 19 years old when I was born.  She named me Amy Joy because she says I was her greatest Joy.  That’s pretty admirable, because I accidentally got pregnant at 26, after college and with a full time teaching job and I’m pretty sure that terror trumped joy when I found out. But I digress.

Motherhood for her was an escape route from a home riddled with alcoholism and a childhood tainted by trauma. Her mom, from what I remember, was pretty awesome.  She was funny and loving and full of life.  Until a brain aneurism took her at the tender age of 46.  My mom was 23 when she lost her own mother. At the time, I didn’t get it.  I was young, and I figured my mom was grown up, so she didn’t really need her mother anymore.

In hindsight, I can’t imagine.  I can’t imagine being a young mother, with a brand new second baby, and losing your mom so suddenly.   The older I get, the more I think about the heartbreak, the devastation she must have felt. It dawns on me now that I’m nearly as old as my grandmother was when she passed.

When I was a baby, I think we had a pretty rocky start.  I don’t remember any of it, but she and my dad didn’t last long.  They both say they were just too young.  (My dad is an amazing man, and he has always loved me fiercely.  He’ll get his own blog post for father’s day.)   Mom moved back to her hometown, into a small apartment over the bar that her father owned.  She worked as a waitress, and in my brain there is a snapshot of me, probably around 3 years old, sitting on the bar with a massive jar of maraschino cherries between my OshKoshed legs, snacking like I owned the place.  We lived there together for a while, until she met my stepfather.

My stepdad is a rock. He’s a provider, and he loved me like his own.  I think that he anchored her during this time in her life. They had three more daughters together, and my mom embraced a pretty traditional form of motherhood. She had graduated High School, but never gone to college, so employment options were limited in our small town.  She kept waitressing for a little while, but then settled in to running a home daycare for a large portion of my childhood.

Mom was always affectionate and energetic, but there came a time, somewhere in my preteen years, when her yearning for something more became more than a yearning.  My mom went back to school when I was in High School. She had always wanted to go to college, but as a dyslexic child, the people around her didn’t have the tools to help her realize her potential.  She always thought she was dumb.

She’s far from dumb. She’s really smart.  Admittedly, I was a bit resentful during High School when she started taking classes.  This meant that the rest of us had a lot of slack to pick up.  It was then that I really realized how much she had done for us, behind the scenes and with very little gratitude, for all of those years.  In hindsight, I am in awe of the strength and determination it took to go back to school at this late stage, with four kids at home and a full time job running a daycare. But my mom is nothing if not determined.

She did it.  My mom and I went to college at the same time. She got her associate’s degree and then her bachelor’s degree.  After 25 years, her marriage to my stepdad ended.  While that was traumatic for us all, I think it was part of my mother’s transformation.  She was realizing her dreams.  She was becoming the smart, independent, determined woman she was always meant to be.

My mom lives in Florida now. She moved there a few years ago with Tom, who is her perfect match. He treats her as an equal; he shakes his head and sighs when she’s being ridiculous, and he happily joins her when she’s craving an adventure.  He’s pretty amazing, and they’re really, really good together.  Once in Florida, Mom went to nursing school at an age when most people are thinking about retirement.  She became an RN and lives near the ocean, which has always been her dream.  She got her eye makeup tattooed on, so she no longer feels the need to apply eyeliner before she leaves the house.

My mom is far from perfect. She’s made a lot of mistakes and she’s infamous for her terrible gift-giving (Sorry mom.  But you’re getting better. Keep trying.)

And despite her flaws and faults, my amazing mother has taught me who I want to be.

She has taught me that your past doesn’t have to define you.

She has taught me that what you know to be true about yourself trumps anything that others believe.

She has taught me that motherhood is full of joy and sacrifice, and that loving your children will make up for all the mistakes you’re bound to make.

She has taught me the importance of staying true to yourself.  She has shown me how to achieve joy by striving to reach your potential.

She has showed me how to love fiercely, how to be unapologetically me, and how to laugh at myself when I feel like crying.

She has taught me the importance of tenderness and honesty.

She has shown me how to be brave and bold and kind.

My mother is my inspiration, and on this day and all the others… I am so grateful to have her in my life.