There is a person who wakes up early to get the groceries she wanted; gets out of church early so her veggies stayed fresher; cooks so much in the heat of the day that her apartment becomes 28 degree celsius. All because of she wanted to see her family smile. This is not a crazy person. This is a Mother. This is my mother.
My mother is a simple woman who grew up in complicated times. Her own mother is the only role model she knows. My grandmother raised four children and countless grandchildrens. She lost her husband to a fire and took care of his parents until their death. Her entire life is defined by her service to others. On grandmother’s tombstone they described her as a candle, “Illuminating others while diminishing herself.”
As a result my own mother never thinks she can do enough for her children. Every time I visit her I only get to see her back as she cooks up extravagant meals. Sometimes I fear that when she leaves this world I don’t get to see her in my dreams because I don’t see her face enough in life.
At birthdays and holidays, her gifts are always the most expensive. At every opportunity she always tries to give me money. I suspected she secretly won the lottery until one day when I try to buy some six dollar fruit for her. She says: “Let’s wait for it to go on sale, you can save a dollar fifty.” When I asked her what kind of cake she wanted for her birthday, she says:”For us old folks just noodles is fine.” This is a Mother. My mother.
Mother, do you know that you break your son’s heart every time you put yourself last? Do you know that one of my biggest wishes in life is to make your life more comfortable and happy? When I was making a documentary and needed a second camera person, you volunteered. We drove twenty some hours in a snowstorm. On the way we had some of the deepest conversations a mother and child could ever have. Those are the precious moments of life that I will hold onto when you are gone.
Back in my mother’s 28 degree kitchen we gathered for another feast. This time to celebrated her granddaughter becoming one month old. Mother finally turned away from her stove so she could hold her grandchild in earnest. This is a Mother, my mother. It brings me tears to see my mother, my wife and my daughter in one room. Old mom, new mom and future mom.
Mothers are superhumans who are tasked with perpetuating the human race. The selfless power they wield amazes me everyday. What is the source of their strength? What is the mystery of their energy? Hope and Love.
Every new mother gives birth to their new hope.
Every old mother helps their children with the old riddle of life.
Every future mother stands ready to explore the future of love.
This chain of mothers form the shorelines of humanity that defies the tides of time. They hold back darkness and welcome each brilliant new dawn. They are convinced that THIS dawn is brighter than the ones came before.
It is two o’clock in the morning and I hear my wife pumping milk. HOPE and LOVE continously fuel these superhuman-beings.
Mothers, I thank you.
Mothers, I love you.
Mothers, I kiss you forever.
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