Scene: I arrive home from the Mom 2 Summit. I’m reeling from the noxious smell of the driver’s heavy cologne, musky man scent and his uh, other malodorous qualities. You know, the one that comes from his ass? Yeah, that one. I’m hungry, tired and I just want to unpack and enjoy my family. I open the front door to screaming, tears and impatience.
Me: Um.. hi! I’m home!
My Mother: I’m done! I’m going home!
Me: What? What is wrong? What’s going on?!
My Mother: I’m sick. I have a fever. I’ve been sick since I got here. (She’s been watching my kids since Thursday. It is now Monday afternoon.)
Me: You’re sick?! No one told me this! I had no idea! Why is The Comedian crying?
I head upstairs to remedy the issues of a sobbing, then puking from sobbing Comedian. There is no grand scene of ‘welcome home’, just a bunch of sick, over-tired people who are really over being around each other. TD is home from school with a cough and The Fifth Element can’t nap because The Comedian won’t stop wailing about “No Nap! No Closed Doors! No EVERYTHING YOU COULD POSSIBLY THINK OF RIGHT NOW MOMMY!”
No one cares that I’m home. No one missed me.
Then I go back downstairs to my mother.
Me: Why didn’t anyone tell me you were sick? H never said a word. I would have come home!
My Mother: That’s because I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want you to come home. I wanted you to go and enjoy the conference, to get the most out of it. To do well and connect with others like you and pursue more work.
Ugh. Oh. Right. That.
Just. There are no words.
But, wait! I bet I can find some.
That right there. That is what a mother’s love is really all about. It doesn’t stop when you leave the nest and try to pursue something that few people understand, including my Mom. She just knows that it’s my passion and that writing and social media are like air to me. So she sucks it up, like we mother’s always do and she watched my unruly, sick kids while she was sick herself so that I could go geek out about talking transitions and intentions with media mavens and drink Ultimate Pina Coladas with women who inspire me and stoke the fires of creativity daily. I’m hanging at the Versace Mansion drinking mojitos and taking pictures of myself in a gold shower while she’s sick to her stomach.
No flowers. No massages. No card can express how far into my marrow that love went when she said those words. How inadequate I felt in that moment to express anything as clear in love as that or even thanks is beyond expression. They say that actions speak louder than words but what she said and did was a work in tandem that was profound and yet exactly what we always say a parent’s love should be. It was full of depth and clarity, ordinary in the every day, voluminous and unconditional.
It exactly what I needed from her in that moment and always. It’s why she never stops being such an inspiration to me and someone I compare myself to often. She is the best role model, the best example of mothering that I have and I know that I hit the jackpot in her.
I love you, Mom.
Thank you. A million times thank you. I can never say it enough. If I ever think that no one is in my corner, I should be referred back to this post and this moment because I would be dead wrong.
Yes. This is what being a mother is about. We are lucky and so are our kids.