My family has two celebratory seatings for Mother’s Day; one for my sister and I to share with our own, immediate families and one to share with the one who bore and bred us.
Grandmothers are the foundation, but they often get served at the second seating. It’s an oversight and it’s a downright shame. We wouldn’t be here without the hours of labor she passed and the pain she swallowed just to give us a shot at life. We wouldn’t be here, if she didn’t stay up night after night nursing our sickness and assuring our sense of self.
She’s the president of our fan club. She’s the first one we call, when the s#$* hits the fan or to share sappy stories with; our daughter’s first step, the moment we slipped on that engagement ring or the moment we closed on our first home. We hold our breath and only exhale after we dial her digits and hear the excitement in her tone.
Each gray hair on her head is born from the worry she carries for our future. She can’t help it. It’s innate to love without condition.
We shout and fight with her more than anyone else, only because she is a mirror image of ourselves, from all sides, both good and bad. She’ll tell us she doesn’t support us, when she doesn’t agree, but she’ll always call the next day. There’s no way she can’t. She’s still a mother, even after we’ve grown up and gone away.
Even with a bum leg or the flu, she still tries to cook for us, when we are tired and our kids are throwing a tantrum. We say “no way”, but she’ll still be at our doorstep later that day.
She looks at our kids the same way we do. She is full of love and pride, just at the sight of them. She gives them candy, even after we say “no”, just to see how big they can really smile.
We are so lucky to have her here and she deserves to hear that. To us, she’s the MVP and first string, no matter what.