To My Son,
Mother’s Day is coming soon. As you do every year, you will feel bad that you can’t buy me something. Words cannot make you fully understand why I prefer the things you make me with your own small hands to anything you could get for me with money. One day your own child will shyly give you a handmade gift or card and you will know, as do I, the thought and effort that went into this creation. You will also know that no store can possibly duplicate the effort that went into this gift of love. Let me see if I can explain why no amount of cash can purchase what you have given me.
You try to buy me flowers. You can’t see the garden that blooms within me every time I see you perform a kind gesture for a stranger. You don’t know that every kind gesture you perform plants a seed in the mind of those you do kindness to.
You wish to buy me a necklace, but I prefer the glow in my heart that outshines any jewel that would adorn my neck. The jewel in my heart gets brighter with every hug I get from you.
That ring in the store begs you to put it on my finger. How can you not see that your hand in mine is the only adornment I require?
I need no earrings to hang from ears. They may clutter the sound of your voice and cause me to miss one of those questions you ask as you assume I am all knowing.
Do not take me out of my home for dinner. My taste buds revel in the macaroni and cheeses that you made with love and I would rather be subjected to your proud display of table manners than those I may encounter in any given restaurant.
I don’t need to see that movie I’ve displayed so much interest in when I can be so entertained by our walk through the woods as you play scout and Indian.
The scent of a new perfume may cloud my nose as I lean my cheek on your head that rests on my shoulder and take in the fresh odor or your newly washed hair.
No printer of cards ever put so much struggle in the creation of letters or so much thought as you into the words you write to melt my heart.
The new sunglasses you think would look so pretty on me cannot possibly make me see the world in the light that you have given me.
In short my son, it is I who thank you on Mother’s Day. You give me the greatest gift of all in simply being my son. Your very presence has made me want to be a better person. When you say “I love you.”, I know that it doesn’t matter how the rest of the world feels about me because I have you. When you tell me that I’m a good mom, all my past mistakes seem to be worthwhile if the course of them got me to you.
When you seem uncertain and ask me things like why I would want to have such a child as you, I am reminded that I would want no other and that God gave me his greatest blessing not in monetary wealth or material items, but by letting me look into your eyes every day.
Your struggle on your way to adolescence makes my pride in you overwhelm me as I witness every day that though you are sometimes clumsy, your hands never seek to do harm.
Your anger over small injustices assures me that you will be fair in your course through life.
When you point out my flaws in such a loving manner, I cannot help but see that every part of you makes me a better person.
And so my son, in closing, it is I that owes you a “Thank you.” on Mother’s Day. Your very existence has changed me from the person I was to the mother I am.
Gratefully Yours,
The Mother You Made Me
~~~
Katharine Foust is a single mother of one fabulous boy, a writer, a teacher and a student. She prefers the company of children to adults. Currently she is pursuing a degree in education with a specialty in special education. Katharine writes nonfiction and is currently working on an educational project. To read more about Katharine, visit her website at: http://justkat73.googlepages.com/home
