I suffered mother burn-out at a relatively young age.  That’s what happens when you’ve gone through 3 of them by 18.

1.  My biological mother was mentally ill.  She was a major manic/depressive who refused to keep up with her meds or therapy.  Instead, she self-medicated with alcohol and lots of recreational drugs.  She also married and divorced 3 times.  She was an "absent" mother.  I don’t remember having many direct interactions with her, but I do remember just watching her a lot.  I can tell about the peculiar way she age potato chips, and I can tell you that she loved Elton John, and I can tell you she slept A LOT - but I can’t really tell you what she was like as a mother.  She blew her head off with a .357 Magnum when I was 16.

2.  My biological mom let me go to her brother and his wife when I was 9.  The legal adoption was finalized when I was 11.  My second "mother" was an ugly-natured woman who didn’t want me in her house.  She told me almost every day how "bad" I was, how much like my real mother, how fat, how crazy I was.  Her favorite thing was slapping me across the face for a perceived "bad look" and then making me tell her I loved her.  I escaped from that house when I was 17.

3.  I went into a foster home at 17, and spent about 1 1/2 years there.  My foster mother was only 10 years older than me and childless - so it was much more like having an older sister.  We got along great, and I adored her.  Finally, I had a home where I felt at home and one happy year in high school.  I’m grateful to my foster mom to this day.  Thanks, Diana!

4.  Now, long-married, and 45 years old, I have a mother-in-law.  She’s wonderful; everything I always thought a mother should be.  She’s warm and affectionate, and loves to "take care" of the family with lots of great meals and an old house to sit in and chat for hours … or just take naps.  Whatever.  She’s a tiny lady who, when she hugs me, hits me at about the center of my breast bone.  I tower over her, but will bend to her loving nature any day.

I wrote this for my own blog, but thought I would share it with the ladies at WOW also, Happy Mother’s Day to all in your various forms.

Take a teacup of a rose, raised to the sun and watch it unfold, this is the promise and hope of the mother. On one very special day each year, the mother honored with a special lift of cheer. A mother goes far beyond the birth of a child, a mother the nurturer born of desire. A mother, an aunt, a friend, an admirer all are honored this day for the desire to see the children they hold so dear, remembrance of the heart and years.

Starting at birth and without end, a mother’s love, past all life transcends. The whisper, the touch, you long too once again feel, becomes the song or brush of the cheek once again. A mother’s love always lives, the life of an energy who only knew how to give.

On this day, a mother’s heart takes many ways of feeling the joy, the loss, the pain, of being the child, the mother and graced. From the mother energy which is not with you now, or the tear on the cheek remembering a child beyond the clouds.

For they have not gone far away, remaining close to you in a circular praise of the love of the mother, tried and true, a connective energy that raises you. Parties, picnics, and gatherings of another day, special to the heart as you hesitate to allow such memories now to be a part of your way.

Today Mother Mary has gathered in truth, the mother energy she has given to you. Birthed, of a teacup rose to spread through you, the universal love, only mother energy can do. A mother stands close to her love of desire on this day, whether here or there, or thought to be far away. The children who have gone beyond touch of mother’s today, fill the heart, and help her remember the way, as an infant so small and beautifully smooth, the touch once again, touches you.

Cherubs and saints gather in song, to anchor the energy of a mother’s love, to you they belong. For they have not passed beyond the hearts gate, today their love is only in wait. Cherubs holding teacups, elders in full bloom, the scent of the rose, the mother’s love for you. As you have read this, now hold your hands cupped to your face, smell the rose scent of a mother’s embrace.

Blessings,

Have a wonderful sweetly scented Mother’s Day

My relationship with my mother has  been characterized by mixed feelings, on some levels, but it has always been rooted in a deep love.  While I have always seen characteristics in my mother that I do not want to possess myself, I have always been aware of the love that exists between a mother and child. As I  mature, I often marvel at this type of love.

I had to attend the high school where my mother taught English. I vividly remember the first day of my first year at this school. Because I am…ahem..’vertically challenged’ I decided to navigate my way down the hall past her classroom by hiding in the middle of a large crowd of students. As I was shrinking my shoulders down, looking at the ground—all the while hurrying as fast as I could—that familiar voice rang out: "There she is! Melanie…MELANIE!". Immediately after this, I heard the low gruff voices of some older boys say "That’s HER! THERE SHE IS!". With that moment, my hellacious freshman year began. It was miserable because, not only was I bullied because of who I was (and I developed a deep resentment against my mother as well as my tormenters), hearing insults directed at my mother by these people HURT…I loved her, and I had an up-close-and-personal look at the sort of abuse that she as a teacher had to take on a daily basis. It broke my heart. The torrent of emotion stirred up by this hurt, my resentment of my mother for making me go to this school, the terror of the upper classmen’s bullying, along with all the other hormonally-charged issues inherent to being a teenager, made that year the longest of my life. The one thing I remember realizing most is how much I do love my mother (I was the youngest of 4, and mama had gone back to school to get her master’s fairly soon after my arrival; frankly, we had never really been that close). Up to that point, I had always been aware of her faults, as sized up in my juvenile estimation…hearing virtual strangers levelling insults, and unfair cruel judgements made me start to see her in a different light.

Once I got through high school (and boy was I ready to get oout of my parents’ house) I attended Birmingham-Southern college. I had the most enjoyable class of my entire colliagate career my first term; it was called "Ethical Choice". Among the many philosophical topics we disscussed was ‘love’…and the types of love (eros, philos, etc.)…what the definitions of love MEAN. I remember our class had a spirited discussion regarding agape, in particular. After spending a significant amount of time in Sunday school and church, I felt secure in my knowledge of the subject, I duly contribited my opinion on the subject, wrote an eloquent paper, and was rewarded with an "A".

Years later, when I had my first child, I reflected back on that class, and how remedial my knowledge of agape was. When I  had my first ultrsound showing that my baby was indeed implanted in the right place (I had an ectopic pregnancy a few years earlier)…and when I first felt him move inside me…when I was admitted to the hospital and saw his heartbeat decreasing on the fetal monitor and realized I was going to have an emergency c-section a month early….all these things made me feel agape. I felt that selfless love for another person within the marrow of my bones, down to every fiber of my being. The terror I felt that something might happen to him was all-encompassing. Once I had him, and I held his little hand, and when, FINALLY, I could hold him after three days, I thought about this love… primary, primordial, timeless, and the most powerful force on earth. Beyond cold ration, it is the reason we are all here. That selfless love, agape, was no longer a mere textbook definition.

Three years later I was again awestruck  at the birth of my daughter, this poweful love multiplied! There were two little people who I would do anything for and who I love unconditionally. Having my own children changed my relationship with my own parents dramatically. I never fully appreciated them until I became a parent.

So, on this Mother’s day I want to celebrate this wonderous, powerful, and sustaining love that exists between a mother and her children. That which flows between my grandmother (she just turned 102), to my mother, through me, and down to my own teenaged son and daughter. To me, this love provides a window to the past, joy to the present, and intimations of immortality. Happy Mother’s Day to one and all!

My mother died a long time ago. She was sweet and kind but totally devoted to my father. As the eldest child, I had too many responsibilities, like being in charge of my baby brother and two year old sister when I was only six myself. - I left the old country (Germany) when I was 24 and started a brand new life.

I have the most wonderful relationship with my daughter whom I raised to be a very independent human being. But when she was little, I was always right behind her to catch her. As an only child, she went to a private college out of town. I encouraged her to have this type of social experience. Later on, she went to graduate school in Monterey which I encouraged her to do. I was happy but sad when she spent an entire college year abroad for the language and cultural experience, but my car ‘in hook’ for the trip to visit her, at here request.

She came home after graduate school and lived with me. After a few years I said to her: Honey, it’s time for you to have an investment. Single women need to invest in property. Within a month she bought her very nice town house. I realized that she was waiting for me to encourage her and was afraid to hurt my feelings. I am grateful to my fate that I have such a loving child…..

My relationship with my mother has always been a struggle and this year my relationship with my son is a struggle, too.