Mother’s Day has a new significance for me this year. I would have always said I live with a great one, but in the last year my concept of greatness has been enriched. Yes, there’s her organization and creativity; her willingness to serve and volunteer; her concern and her laughter; her daily sacrifices and priorities that become very clear when I’m left to handle them myself for extended periods of time. We’ve reaped the benefits of motherhood in our family and tasted much of the joy and fulfillment over the last 12 years. This year we’ve caught a glimpse of how much it can demand—and in trying circumstances Trish has been an amazing example to all who have been fortunate enough to observe her. I’m the lucky guy who got a front-row seat.
We tend not to do much of the traditional when it comes to such celebrations. Like I do every year, I floated the idea of brunch at the Biltmore or Bacara and got shut down. After my shocking discovery this past week, I don’t think she would twist the dagger and suggest McDonald’s, but we’ll probably keep it simple and not spend our time out waiting somewhere. The kids had various projects in the works at school, but the unexpected day off due to the Jesusita fire means they weren’t able to bring them home. Max had additional consternation yesterday: he started a small craft project to make a substitute gift, got interrupted by the beckoning swimming pool, and returned to it later to discover that the conscientious and efficient mother he was trying to honor had cleaned it all up.
But we do have our standby gift ready. Several years ago, the boys and I made Trish a garden fountain out of some flower pots. It brought a few weeks of peace and tranquility to the back yard until an errant skateboard put it out of commission. It was then added to the list of “things that only take Rolf 10 minutes but will take him a year to actually do”. The next year’s Mother’s Day gift was…to fix the fountain—until Livy stuffed the pump hose full of gravel after a few weeks’ enjoyment. The next year it got hit with a football. You get the picture. I’m not sure Trish recalls that I packed up all the parts when we moved, but after a year’s hiatus the kids and I fixed the fountain again. Only cost me $4.23, reminding you once again of my trademark ability to woo my wife. No ladies, I don’t have an eligible twin.
I actually did go out in search of something other than my usual goofy card this year, but couldn’t find any “serious” ones that spoke to the journey we’ve been on this year. Lots of words and pretty pictures, but none captured it. So, I went with goofy and wrote in what I wanted to say.
I am including the poem below as a Mother’s Day tribute. There might be parts of the heart community where it’s reached cliché status, but it does speak to so much of what we’ve been through. I offer it first and foremost, as a tribute to Trish, but also to the heroic moms we’ve been introduced to over the year who have provided inspiration and comfort as they contend for their kids. As I read it, I especially remember those mothers whose little ones aren’t with us anymore—may the admirable grace and strength they fought with be met with comfort and peace today.
The Day I Became a Heart Mother
One day my world came crashing down,
I’ll never be the same.
They told me that my child was sick.
I thought, “am I to blame”?
I don’t think I can handle this.
I am really not that strong.
It seemed my heart was breaking.
I have loved him for so long.
I will not give up on this child.
I will listen to your advice.
I will give my child any chance.
No matter what the price.
I will learn all that I need to help my child thrive.
I’ll even use that feeding tube.
My child must survive!
Will he need a lot of therapy?
Will he gain the needed weight?
Please God, help me do this.
I will accept our fate.
When the monitors beep at night, it serves as my reminder.
How many parents would love that sound.
Tomorrow I will be kinder.
As another Angel earns his wings,
I run to my child’s bed.
I watch him sleep for quite a while.
I bend down and kiss his head.
I cry for the parents whose hearts have been broken.
I look to You wondering why?
Oh Lord, I just can’t know your ways….no matter how I try.
And yet, I trust you hold his life, and guide us through each day.
My mind says savor each moment he’s here,
but my heart begs, “PLEASE let him stay”!
From pacing the surgical waiting room, to sitting by his bed.
From wishing for a good nights sleep, to learning every med.
From wondering, “will he be alright?”, to watching him reach out his hands.
With every smile my heart just melts, despite life’s harsh demands.
For all who see that faded line.
I look to them and smile.
You see my child is loved so much.
I would face ANY trial.
That scar I trace with my finger (It’s the door to his beautiful heart).
God must have known how much I’d love him (Just as He loved him from the start).
A heart mom is always a heart mom.
Now wise beyond her years.
For those who have angels in heaven,
Our hearts share in all of your tears.
Every day I will try and remember,
I was chosen for him (and no other).
I will always embrace that beautiful day…….
When I became a “Heart Mother”.
– Author Unknown
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