I have been blessed with the opportunity to watch a woman who, stoic and strong, brushed her daughter's hair from her face, wiped the sweat from her daughter's brow, and repeated a mantra of undying love into her daughter's ear. Her daughter, frail and forty, tucked in to sheets and covered in oxygen masks and medications designed to alleviate her pain, was leaving her, leaving us. This mother grasped at the few moments she was given and held them dear, held them tight, and, despite being surrounded by wounded cries and loss, was a mother- she cared for her child, held her child, hoped for her child, all the while acting the part of the strength in her child's world. That role so quickly reprised, mother to child, caretaker of a swaddled infant, a swaddled woman.
To watch this mother relive those moments of forty years past was a privilege and a sight so vulnerable that I had to look away for fear of tarnishing the precious, precious moments the two were sharing as this woman's daughter stole her last breaths. To think that this mother had always seen her light go out long before her daughter's, that she had planned on having her daughter brush her hair back, wipe the sweat from her brow, and whisper "I love you" in her ear, and now, now...now she had to fight the innate urge to battle the force tearing the life from her child and, instead, help her child walk the path to where the light ends.
For the last few hours of her daughter's breaths, this mother dampened, folded, and held a wet cloth to her daughter's face and neck, "Here, my darling, this will help, this will make you fel better." For hours. For the last few hours of her daughter's breaths, this mother held her tongue and her place while others from her daughter's life borrowed some of that precious time. For hours. For the last few hours of her daughter's breaths, this mother questioned every decision she had ever made, every word she had ever spoken, every smile she had ever held back, and asked herself if she could ever forgive herself for any of them. For hours.
She took to the corner while her daughter's spouse cried and held her tight. She took to the corner while her daughter's best friend held them all aloft with her strength. She took to the corner when I whispered my thanks to her daughter for allowing all of us to share this time, this love, and this pain with each other. She took to the corner. At no point in a mother's life does she expect to slide out of the way and let someone else take the reigns...but this mother did. Despite the agony of relinquishing those moments to others, others who had known her daughter a mere moment compared to a lifetime, despite the torture of knowing that her hand may not be the last one her daughter felt holding for love, this mother took to the corner and did what the most passionate mothers do for their children...she shared with the world the greatest gift she could afford - her daughter. All of us in that room, in those last few hours, owe to this mother a debt of love for having been among the few to receive the gift of time from a mother who had so little of it left to share.
On this Mother's Day, it is this mother's moments that will be at the forefront of all that is maternal and true. Her first Mother's Day no longer as the mother of a beautiful, brilliant, living woman, but as the mother of an ethereal, ingenious, eternal memory. She is an inspiration to all of us who have people in our lives who refer to us as "Mom" or "Momma" or "Mommy" or "Ma". She has shown me that, truly, a mother's love is selfless and all-encompassing, it is gracious and strong, it is the backbone of any moment in time, and it is endless.
On this Mother's Day, I think if my mother, my grandmothers, and all of the mothers I have in my life and hope that they have had (or had) the blessing of seeing, in themselves or others, the true spirit of motherhood the way in which I saw it in the grace and poise this mother held while she whispered good-bye to her daughter. I know that her daughter felt that love in those last touches and whispers of kisses and I know that she still basks in it their glow, wherever she may be.
On this Mother's Day, I thank her - through many, many tears - for showing me what it means to be a mother. Childbirth. Holding hands. Final breaths. String heart, strong hands, strong souls. Forever.
