Be grateful for mom
Being thankful even if she’s long gone this Mother’s Day
Mothers. It is not always easy to live with them. It can be harder to live without them.
I miss my resilient and overly protective mom in odd moments every day, more so with each passing year since she left us in December of 2006. I look at the kitchen table and imagine us playing Scrabble. She unfailingly beat me, by at least 100 points.
Born in Warsaw, she fled to France where she hid from Nazis for 14 years.
Her immediate family died in Hitler’s ovens. She did not learn English until the age of 31 when she finally was able to emigrate to America. I have spent a 40-year-career as a writer and was a child Spelling Bee champion. Never did I win a game of Scrabble with this champion of crossword puzzles and determination.
Many of you are also motherless adults. We have our own children and grandchildren. We look at photos of our mothers no longer here — and we remember. In these snap-shots, we are small children on a lap or clinging to parents on the first day of kindergarten. We become lost in reverie of feeling wholly protected, shielded from the bad guys and the woes of the world.
We are now the protectors of our own tribes, exposed, unshielded to the woes of the world. We know, now, to be true what we resented then when our mothers said: “Someday you will have your own children and you will see why I act this way.”
We rebelled against their rules. And there were consequences, for talking back, worse yet, when interspersed with some cussing. We were grounded as teens sneaking home after curfew, swiftly heading for the bathroom to douse our liquored breath with Listerine. Yet, we were still caught.
What is it with moms? They can sniff out wrongdoing when there is only a flicker of a scent.
Then it happens to us, and we hear our moms saying, “I told you so.” We sit up in our bathrobes way past midnight. The front door creaks open and we catch our own teens, wobbly and smiling too broadly, talking nonsense and smelling like a brewery. When told they are grounded for the next three weekends, they shout loudly, spouting mean and hurtful things.
And we say, “Someday you will have your own children…”
I wish I could tell my mother today, “You were right.” You were right about dolling out punishments that felt too severe but changed behaviors. You were right when you told me some of my beloved boyfriends were wrong. You were right to urge me to telephone you more, that you needed to hear my voice as I roamed the world as a journalist.
I feel your words, Mom, when I get random texts instead of regular phone time with sons now roaming the country and the world.
I wish I could tell you today that what I considered the worst of you as a stubborn young daughter forms the best of who I am today. You were stoic and irrepressible, and proudly “I Am My Mother’s Daughter.” This is the title of my fourth book, an ode to the cycles of love and loathing and forgiveness that transpires between mother and child.
The power of you, Mom, is the power within me, as I raised four sons who someday will know that over-protectiveness is a demonstration of overly-loving —a lasting gift some kids never
get.
Thankfully, whether our mothers are in this world or have moved into the next world, we can still hear their voices every day. Our mothers may pass away, but they are never really gone. We learn from our mothers — if we are fortunate — the essential tools of how to live and how to give, and how to mother our own broods.
Helen Krasnow has certainly never left my life. When facing challenges, big and small, I hear her speak one of her prized expressions: “If Hitler didn’t get me, nothing will get you.” I also hear her voice when cooking in the kitchen, to add more salt, less butter, to put the oven at 350 and not 375.
As it turns out, mothers do know best. Her dishes often taste better than mine.
Forging onward, and not wallowing in pains of the past — Mom, this was your most crucial lesson. Despite the horrors of your youth, you tackled each day with vigor and optimism. You showed me what every mother comes to realize: when we put our best face forward we inspire hope and strength in our children who count on us to be hopeful and strong.
Thank you, Helene Steinberg Krasnow, for being steely and invincible. Your core wisdom is at the heart of who I am. You taught me to live urgently and gratefully, from your own youth experiencing the eggshellthin line that separates life from death. You taught me that pushing through adversity is what makes us stronger.
So, on this day when we honor the women who brought us into this crazy and wonderful world, thank you, Mom, wherever you are. You showed me that love is what children need most.
Thank you for doing a really good job at motherhood.