Yes, they did it again - my boys made me cry on Mother's Day. Not like that is a hard thing to accomplish but still, they provided me with yet again the greatest gift a mother could receive from a child....being remembered.
Every year for the past 4 years I have received a breakfast in bed and every year there's chaos in the kitchen as they prepare it. The first time they did, there was even a small pan fire. Every year my youngest takes charge, and my oldest son grumbles and moans about having to get out of bed. It's become a tradition that I look forward to and dread the day when they leave the nest and I awake in my home on a Mother's Day and my boys aren't in the kitchen arguing over their well anticipated surprise breakfast for me.
Since my father passed on a decade and a half ago, Mother's Day has been a bittersweet holiday for me. We buried him just two days before Mother's Day, and the week following it, was the first time in my life that a May 12th passed and I wasn't celebrating his birthday with him. Every year since his passing those memories tend to flood my mind - even if I try to push them out, they invade.
My father would be so proud of his grandsons. Justin, who when he was born, my father beamed with pride and Kyle who Dad, unfortunately never met, is the spitting image of him. I remember how important it was for me to have a child before my father passed. As his only blood child, I so wanted him to see his bloodline he was so proud of, being passed down and on. Family and heritage meant so much to that walking wall of a man, a treasured trait he passed on to me...
Soon after I had married, I knew my father did not have long left on Earth - He was even unable to come to our wedding celebration as he was in the hospital recovering from yet another heart attack. It was then we were told that the doctors felt he had two years at best surviving the congestive heart failure brewing inside his chest.
My father...my hero, was dying - a man that had survived so much..including cancer, alcoholism, depression, rheumatoid arthritis - the man I grew up in awe as I watched him take on battles at work for his fellow UAW members, and the man who taught me to find humor in all life throws at you -
When others met him they had no idea how that 6'4" walking giant was just a pile of mush and sentiment - how he cried like a baby when he watched the end of the movie Rudy ...or for that matter Old Yeller.
So, there's not a doubt in my mind, that Daddy was beaming with pride from above as my two sons argued once again as they made the traditional Mother's Day breakfast in bed. Another year where my youngest...and who is that spitting image of Dad....barked out orders to his older brother....and then, of course, the comedy that ensued as my eldest son burnt the bacon...again. At least this year there were no fires....(that I know of)...
While every year I am touched by the display of love the boys show towards me on Mother's Day, the tears this year came a few hours after my early morning breakfast. They came after my oldest went back to bed, and my youngest was off doing his own thing...being creative. They came when I sat down at my computer and there, on the keyboard, was a lilac colored envelope. Inside that envelope was a Hallmark moment, and one that went beyond the maker of the card....the tears came to my eyes when I read the words my sons wrote to me on the inside of that card........... see what my eyes and heart saw....
Happy Mother's Day!
Every year for the past 4 years I have received a breakfast in bed and every year there's chaos in the kitchen as they prepare it. The first time they did, there was even a small pan fire. Every year my youngest takes charge, and my oldest son grumbles and moans about having to get out of bed. It's become a tradition that I look forward to and dread the day when they leave the nest and I awake in my home on a Mother's Day and my boys aren't in the kitchen arguing over their well anticipated surprise breakfast for me.
Since my father passed on a decade and a half ago, Mother's Day has been a bittersweet holiday for me. We buried him just two days before Mother's Day, and the week following it, was the first time in my life that a May 12th passed and I wasn't celebrating his birthday with him. Every year since his passing those memories tend to flood my mind - even if I try to push them out, they invade.
My father would be so proud of his grandsons. Justin, who when he was born, my father beamed with pride and Kyle who Dad, unfortunately never met, is the spitting image of him. I remember how important it was for me to have a child before my father passed. As his only blood child, I so wanted him to see his bloodline he was so proud of, being passed down and on. Family and heritage meant so much to that walking wall of a man, a treasured trait he passed on to me...
Soon after I had married, I knew my father did not have long left on Earth - He was even unable to come to our wedding celebration as he was in the hospital recovering from yet another heart attack. It was then we were told that the doctors felt he had two years at best surviving the congestive heart failure brewing inside his chest.
My father...my hero, was dying - a man that had survived so much..including cancer, alcoholism, depression, rheumatoid arthritis - the man I grew up in awe as I watched him take on battles at work for his fellow UAW members, and the man who taught me to find humor in all life throws at you -
When others met him they had no idea how that 6'4" walking giant was just a pile of mush and sentiment - how he cried like a baby when he watched the end of the movie Rudy ...or for that matter Old Yeller.
So, there's not a doubt in my mind, that Daddy was beaming with pride from above as my two sons argued once again as they made the traditional Mother's Day breakfast in bed. Another year where my youngest...and who is that spitting image of Dad....barked out orders to his older brother....and then, of course, the comedy that ensued as my eldest son burnt the bacon...again. At least this year there were no fires....(that I know of)...
While every year I am touched by the display of love the boys show towards me on Mother's Day, the tears this year came a few hours after my early morning breakfast. They came after my oldest went back to bed, and my youngest was off doing his own thing...being creative. They came when I sat down at my computer and there, on the keyboard, was a lilac colored envelope. Inside that envelope was a Hallmark moment, and one that went beyond the maker of the card....the tears came to my eyes when I read the words my sons wrote to me on the inside of that card........... see what my eyes and heart saw....
Happy Mother's Day!
Comments