Other Mothers

Mothers. We all have one. Or had one.

They come in every shape, size, color, ability, consequence, joy, sorrow, and species.

An occurrence of nature. Sometimes by choice, sometimes by chance. Sometimes by force.

But however it occurs, there is an innate built in sense to nurture, to protect the young, and to send them out to the world of mostly unknowns to start the process again.

Long before Mother’s Day became a commercial gold mine, celebrations were conducted in ancient Egypt to worship the Goddess Isis.

“As the story goes, after Isis’ brother-husband Osiris was slain and dismembered in 13 pieces by their jealous brother Seth, Isis re-assembled Osiris’ body and used it to impregnate herself. She then gave birth to Horus, who she hid among the reeds lest he be slaughtered by Seth. Horus grew up and defeated Seth, and then became the first ruler of a unified Egypt. Thus Isis earned her stature as the Mother of the pharaohs.”

Isis, it seems may have been the first mother to have a child by artificial insemination.

Then over the centuries, more celebrations of Motherhood came to be.

Romans and Greeks had their own Goddess Mother celebrations.

Religious customs based on Lent called Mothering Sunday.

Then on American shores and birthed from ravage of wars…Julia Howe, repulsed by the Civil War wrote her own proclamation of the disgust of mothers sending their sons to kill sons of other mothers.

Arise, then, women of this day!
Arise all women who have hearts,
Whether your baptism be that of water or of tears
Say firmly:
 
“We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands shall not come to us reeking of carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of
charity, mercy and patience.
 

“We women of one country
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.”
  
From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says, “Disarm, Disarm!”
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice!
Blood does not wipe out dishonor
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have of ten forsaken the plow and the anvil at the summons of war.
 
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
 
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
 
Let them then solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.
 
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality
May be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient
And at the earliest period consistent with its objects
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions.
The great and general interests of peace.

And then in 1908 along came Anna M. Jarvis who campaigned for the creation of an official Mother’s Day in remembrance of her mother and in honor of peace.

Anna Jarvis quit working and devoted herself full time to the creation of Mother’s Day, endlessly petitioning state governments, business leaders, women groups, churches and other institutions and organizations. She finally convinced the World’s Sunday School Association to back her, a key influence over state legislators and congress. In 1912 West Virginia became the first state to officially recognize Mother’s Day, and in 1914 Woodrow Wilson signed it into national observance, declaring the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day.

So it began. The day when the most phone calls are made. Florists love this day. Retailers rejoice. Mothers are a demographic that brings big bucks.

Mothers are a window to the future. A window of what pieces we may become. We start to mimic their words. Our bodies morph into theirs. Our regrets surface. Our pain stays hidden. We lose our identities sometimes, other than that of someone’s mother.

Then, there comes a time when we lose our mothers. Many times, we are caring for them, diapering them, wiping the drool away, all the while trying to keep our kindness about us in loving the person who birthed us, yet caused so much pain. Even in some demented state, some moms will find a way to make it perfectly clear that the ‘other’ child, the one not wiping away snot, is their favorite. But, we rally to the end seeking some approval and love from the birthing vessel. In rare cases it comes. Or we like to pretend it does.

Mothers are not perfect. They do the best they can at the time they are doing it. And let’s face it. Sometimes, being a mother just plain sucks. It causes pain. But it also brings joy. Love. Love is like that.

I am a mother. And more than that,  I am just a flailing, faltering mass of a beating heart that made bad decisions sometimes, fucked up choices along the way , but remains to this day standing in awe of what I view as my greatest achievement. Somehow, the blundering, the faults, the regrets, the tribulations gave way to an amazing man..my son. It is my honor to be your mother.

I watch mothers. All mothers. Some I see are great moms. Some should never have been graced with the gift of a child. Ever. It pains me to see what will result in another broken human being caused by the hand, the mind, of the person who by definition should be loving, nurturing.

Those mothers, only in the sense of using their uterus, are not what Hallmark cards are made of. Those mothers who abuse verbally, physically, or emotionally. Those mothers who allow someone else to abuse their offspring. The mothers who ‘use’ their children as a pawn for their own benefit. No…they are not mothers..they were vessels to carry the little souls forth to learn on their own of what not to become in becoming a mother.

And for the sons and daughters who would love nothing more than to actually have a mother that loved them. Far too many regret this day, as that one human that is suppose to go beyond all, beyond love, is not there. Only in theory. Never in reality.

I rejoice and salute the great moms of the world and I know several. It’s not easy. It never ends. The joys, the pains, the love. The long days, the longer nights. The single moms who gave and give it all. The stay at home moms who give up their careers to make sure her children get every ounce of her. The moms of special need kids who fight the strain of their child and fight the world to accept their child at the same time. To the fathers who have to be mom because having what is best for the child is more important than having a non-mom. To the GLBTQ+ children who were told by their mothers to get out, you are worthless. And the the lesbian moms who have fought to have a child, adopt a child or keep a child and remained loved by her child. And to the ‘now moms’ themselves, who have mothers that don’t realize their worth and still denies them a mother. The moms who raise someone else’ s child. To the human moms of the animals who they care for and love as much as if they were human babies. And to the women who simply mother one another. I cherish and love you all.  You fought, you won.

But the Mothers that I truly feel for today are the ones who have lost a child. Just as Julia Howe’s heart must have ached for all the sons who left their mothers in death.

How tragic and sad I feel for the Mothers who see the ads on TV and the Internet…flowers, dinners, presents, tributes and all the while their heart breaks once more for the child who isn’t present. In so many ways, Hallmark is cruel. There are no cards to soothe that pain while others are having brunch.

There can be no greater pain. No greater torment. Dark nights of the soul that never end with the light.

A holiday with a basis born in pain and death. From the Goddess Isis onward.

So this year, today and everyday, my true celebration is for those moms who keep going year after year…without their son or daughter. The ones who smile through the pain, who cradle a memory, who nurture a faith, who just keep going and try to get past the one day a year that sets them apart and makes them the Other Mothers.

You are the mothers I will raise a glass to. The hidden ones I won’t see today. The lonely moms wishing to be a part and not apart. Whole. The mothers of the fallen. The mothers who choose to still fly no matter how low.  My own mother was one of those mothers. I know so many. Know that you have my love and admiration. Always.

Mothers..sons, daughters and all relationships….the heart joins with another. Let it never be broken or separated. Love is all we have.