Motherhood, to me, is still the most complex role ever. To even refer to it as a role sucks some truth out of my statement. For one to be placed in a position where they have to love unconditionally, care without compromise and give selflessly, is something I have high respect for.
Just like all of us, I have had many personal experiences which, for lack of a better word, made me believe that I had a ‘Superwoman’ in my life. As a child, I wanted to be the best writer in the world. Already, at 14, I had written two short stories, which I wanted to submit to a publishing house. I had no idea what it took to make this happen and so did my mother. Because I was in boarding school, I would communicate to her via a public pay phone, which we would access only during school breaks.
First, I told her that my creative juices were flowing so much, and that I needed to equip myself with material to spruce up my writing skills. She didn’t ask why? Or how? Or when? A few days later, the material had been delivered at school. Then, I wanted my manuscript to be submitted to a writing competition I had chanced upon in a newspaper. I ran to the ‘phone booth’ (as we called it) to inform her. The following day she was at school to make this happen too. When the initial shortlist was published, and my name wasn’t on it, I felt sad for her. But guess what, she moved on with her ‘mothering duties’, of course after encouraging me to never stop pursuing my dream.
Two years later, I was busting with a new passion – poetry. I invited her to come watch me recite my first poem during a school competition. That day she arrived an hour before kick-off, which earned her a front seat. I had prepared for weeks and was ready to impress the school, and now with my mother in the audience, I had another reason to knock myself out.
To cut this long story short, immediately I was handed the microphone to speak, I forgot my lines. Yikes! Yes, it happened. Immediately I opened my lips to speak, my eyes met with one of my classmates, who for some reason burst into a laughter, and I lost my confidence. She was, obviously, having a laugh with a friend. But, that just messed me up. But as I struggled with the first stanza of the poem, my eyes moved to my mother in the audience. Hers was a face with pride written all over it. I could hear her saying, “don’t give up, keep going” because I’m sure that’s exactly what she would have said to me. I listened, and kept going. The last five stanzas of the poem were super solid, and yes, I received a round of applause at the end. At the end of the competition, I earned third place out four. Again, she was super proud of me and said that, the small ‘hitch’ at the beginning did not take away from my ‘stellar’ performance. I can go on and on.
But, honestly, it would be so hard for me to do all this for anyone. I’m not a parent yet, and that could, in part, be why. But, mothers have this selflessness that’s inspiring and unreal. I have so much respect for this. I’d like to believe that it’s a spark that’s ignited as soon as one becomes a parent. Maybe I’ll experience it when I cross that bridge.
For a long time, my mother had told us stories of how she and her siblings lived as children. According to her, they were respectful and down-to-earth kids, who made no mess at home. This was so hard for me to believe; first because I didn’t think it was possible to be a child and not play and stain your clothes. Secondly, I just couldn’t imagine my mother as a child. No, it wasn’t possible! She was a ‘Superwoman’. I could not have been more wrong, I later learnt.
My mother and her mother, who is my grandmother, have a special bond. As I was growing up, I never noticed this. Later, when my brain was more mature, I noticed that she too is a child in the eyes of this woman. This got closer to home when my grandfather passed on. I remember this day so vividly.
My mother, just like the ‘superhero’ she was, had just arrived home from work, when she got a phone call. As always, she was beaming with excitement of finding her little ones at home after work. We were even more excited that our ‘hero’ had returned home to watch over us. But, this ‘superwoman’ was feigning a lot of pain. Her dad’s health was worsening every other day, but because of that, she couldn’t give up her role of motherhood, to become a little child who was terrified that her 'superman' was about to go.
Well, she did pick the phone call, with so much hesitation of course. The person on the other side of the call delivered the devastating news. Her father had finally passed on. “He’s dead!” she responded in shock. I was watching. She ended the call with so much bravery, put the phone down, and walked to her bedroom. She fell on her bed and broke down into tears. For the first time in my life, my ‘superhero’ had failed to muster superpowers to deal with this pain. Here I was consoling and comforting her, that it would be alright. Finally, I could see that beneath the tough skin she wore, was a child who had lost their own ‘superhero’.
This is why, every time I say a prayer, I never forget my grandmother. Just like my mother is my rock, she is her rock to her too. Over the weekend I had a small treat for her which got her enveloped with joy. She couldn’t stop gushing about how proud a grandmother she is. That’s the only way I could make my mother happy – putting a smile on her own mother’s face.
Celebrating Mother’s Day means a great deal to me, therefore. I celebrate the fountain of love and selflessness that I have, and also the one my mother has. Clearly, that’s not all, I celebrate the continuity of love therein. Truly, God’s way of showing us the power of love was through these powerful beings.
If you still can, spare a minute and celebrate her, the same will be done for you, in the long run.
Happy Mother’s Day
