Mother's Day - a Mother's Heart

Mother's Day is approaching again and while my 18 year old son, now 6'1'' and growing, will, no doubt, scramble to find me just the right card and to write just the right words and to buy just the right bouquet of flowers or box of chocolates to convey his love and appreciation for me, I realize it's really me, his mother, who finds myself doing the remembering. For I've kept every day, every minute of my baby's life tucked away, always there to take out and dust off and relive and enjoy over and over and over again. It doesn't even take a day like Mother's Day. A simple event, a conversation, a sight, a sound, a smell, anything can bring back fond memories. For safely stored away, not a moment of my child's life will ever be lost to me, his mother.

There are the recordings of my child's first stirrings: The journal from my pregnancy, recording my impressions and emotions of his every move and hiccup and my growing excitement as I spoke and sang to him inside my womb. The first ultrasound when I learned he was a boy and gave him his name, a name planned for many years before he had even come to be. There are my baby's newborn things: His first layette, his rattles and pacifiers, his puffy-sheep musical mobile, his baby blanket and favorite stuffed animals and early childhood toys. I still have his first shoes, some of his first little outfits, and many, many of his first one piece sleepers. I can still see him lying before me, clear as if it were today, smiling and cooing as I sang to him, a different little song for each of those favorite sleepers, snapping them up from toe to neck after changing his diaper and kissing his pudgy little belly, and then scooping him back into my arms to kiss on the cheek as we went about our day together. I keep the clothes, the toys, the blankets, the journals - I keep them in the attic. I keep the memories of the coos, the songs, the softness, the smells, his first bath, his first laugh to the bark of our dog, his first words, his first steps, the thrill on his face as I flew him like an airplane over me on the bed on my feet, all the first moments, the first experiences, the first realizations - I keep them in my heart.

There are the remnants of his childhood, from his toddlerhood through his grade school days: The many, many drawings and love notes he wrote to me, so many debuted on the refrigerator 'til they had to be taken down to make room for more. The VCR movie favorites, watched over and over again at his request, like "Bloo Movie?" for Disney's Jungle Book; the favorite books and bedtime stories, read over and over again and the songs I sang to some of them, like the wonderful little book "I'll Love You Forever", which I never once made it through without crying. There are the reams of pages of schoolwork, as he learned to write the letters of the alphabet and then to spell words and make sentences; and the countless worksheets as he learned to add and subtract and, eventually, to multiply and divide. There are the trophies and ribbons for soccer and T-ball and swim team; the jewels and plaques and awards for Awanas, where for many years we both worked to hide God's Word in our hearts. There were the belts for Tae Kwon Do, where he earned his black belt. And all with so many photographs and video tapes - yet still never enough. All these things, the mementos, the pictures, the awards - I keep them in some boxes. But the memories of my child's expressions, his growing, his learning, his discoveries, his accomplishments, his first victories and his first boo-boos; watching him playing with Legos, playing with our dogs, playing with new friends and having sleep overs in forts made of blankets and chairs; watching him ride his little bike for the first time without training wheels, watching him learn to rollerblade, watching him fall in love with sweet little girls; the time he put his skates on a little girl's feet and then held her hand to help her slowly down the driveway for the first time as his guy friends made fun; watching him struggle to break that board in karate, having to try over and over again in front of everybody as he tested for his next belt, only to become greatly admired by all the kids and parents for his persistence; holding him while he cried when his father first left us; watching him smile and laugh again as together we made it through; watching him grow and mature and loving him every day, all the memories of his early years - I keep them in my heart.

Then there are the mementos of his teen years: the text books and essays and research papers, the report cards and yearbooks with notes from his friends. There are the pictures from the summer camps and mission trips and from our Christmas's and times with friends and family. There are the trophies and awards from his forensics team victories and files of paycheck stubs from his first jobs. There are cards and letters from friends as he grew. Then there are the college acceptances and scholarship awards he has received in only the past few months. And all of these things, the books and papers and trophies and awards and letters and mementos and college acceptances - I keep them in files and drawers and on walls and shelves and on the mantle over my fireplace. But it's the memories of how proud of him I was as he became more serious about his school work, as he began to find subjects in which he excelled. It's how happy he was with his lovely girlfriends and the pain I couldn't kiss away when these young loves ended. It's the concern I felt when he joined the speech and debate team just because his girlfriend was in it, but then the great joy I realized when he found he was good at it, and I had the privilege of flying back east with him two years in a row to compete at Nationals where he ultimately became number one in the nation in his event. It's the respect I had for him as he pursued getting the job he wanted so much and how I never even minded having to get up at 5:00 in the morning to drive him there three or four times a week for nearly a year. It's the excitement with which he pursued getting his driver's license, and the fun I had teaching him to drive, then the admiration I had for him for saving up to buy his own car. It's how humbled I feel that my sweet little boy has turned out so well, that so many people, kids and adults both, know and respect and love him for his character and his service and his heart for God, and all of this in spite of the very difficult times he and I have had to suffer through because of a dad that didn't really care and, worse yet, me, a mom, that so often has felt so inadequate for the struggle. It's the memories of a child who is this mom's greatest blessing - every day, not just on Mother's Day. These are the things I keep in my mind. And I keep them in my heart.

As my baby now prepares to go off to an amazing college in the fall, to pursue his education and his career, and to one day find his wife and to start a family of his own, I know not what his future will hold. But I know that I will continue to keep every moment of his growing up in my heart and I will be there for him every moment of every day to love and support him until the day I die. For that is what mother's do, on Mother's Day and every other day - We keep them, our children, in our hearts.

Happy Mother's Day.