Mothers

     Like so many of us in the world today, my grandmother was my mother during the formative years of my life.  She was the first woman I came to know as a parent.  She was the person who came to represent love, care, comfort, safety, patience, and understanding for me.  

             As I often reflect about the woman she was, I often wonder about who she was as a person!  Growing up, there were things I didn’t know about my grandmother, or even thought about asking.   I didn’t know her age, or height.   I didn’t know what she liked or disliked.   Did she have friends? Who were they and who was her best friend?  What was her favorite food? What colors did she like?  Did she like living in the country, or would she rather have lived in the city?  Why was she married at such a young age, and did she have a choice?  Did she like being married or would she have preferred to be a single woman?  These and so many other things didn’t become apart of my reality until I was older, some I think about even now.  As I cook my meals now and consider it as a chore, I sometimes wonder if she liked cooking all those meals she prepared for me.  I wondered if she liked cleaning the house, washing the clothes, and doing all of the things mothers do when caring for children…the responsibilities conscious or unconscious, of loving, liking, caring, feeding, housing, disciplining, of me.  The countless hours watching over me to make sure I was safe.  The worrying about me when I was in or out of her presence. The times she hummed songs as we sat together in the yard, whether to bring herself or me comfort   I wondered if she fussed on the inside when I got sick and had to take care of me.  Did she ever worry that there were no doctors or dentists in our community to provide any special care she may not have been able to give?  Did she question her sanity when she though about the immense responsibility she was given? 
     Should I have known or speculated about those things? What is it about childhood that makes us not question the details of ones life, those things that helps to make them human?  Could it have just been our own egotism?  Some would say it was not our place as children to question.  Some would say that we were not groomed that way.  Some would say knowing those things would not have made any difference in our lives or that of our parents. We would all still end up liking, and loving each other regardless. 
     Not knowing some of the details about my grandmother sometimes haunts me, but I realize something more important.  The lack of knowledge has not prevented me from loving her.  It has not prevented me from thanking her for loving me, taking care of me, and keeping me alive until I met my biological mother.  What a gift she has been in my life!
     On Mother’s Day, the memories of my grandmother always besiege me and bring me comfort.  Though occasionally sad that she didn’t live long enough to see me blossom into the woman she would want me to be, I am happy that I have known such a person as her. 
     Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers who dare say they are like my grandmother, a treasure.