For all of the mothers and daughters who struggle with each other--this is a tribute to my mother. It represents my willingness--in spite of all else--to love her with whatever love I have to give.
(The following letter was my entry in a writing contest that was chosen to be included in a book entitled, Dear Mom, I've Always Wanted You to Know, Daughters Share Letters From the Heart by Lisa R. Delman, 2005, published by the Penguin Group. She held this contest after nearly losing her mother and desiring to give women the chance to share with their mothers what remained unsaid.)
Dear Mama,
It may have happened while I was washing dishes, folding clothes, or writing a letter, but suddenly, without me even noticing it, my hands had been transformed into yours.
The closely cut fingernails, slightly enlarged knuckles, and even the same dryness crying out for a therapeutic lotion were now mine along with the fair complexion and freckles. I stopped what I was doing at the time to stare at my hands in disbelief as though something supernatural had just occurred. Whether I liked the resemblance was not an issue for I could not change reality. I began to think about all the ways your hands have molded me to be the woman I now am.
With your hands, you held me and cared for me when I was a baby.
As your first child, I know I was special to you, though I don't know if it was more disappointing to realize that you would not be naming me Jeffrey James, or that I was bald and had a deformed lip--a far cry from the Gerber baby you had imagined. Not only that, but when my hair came in a year later, it would be red, an unimaginable color in an all-brunette family. Several years ago when you admitted I looked more like you than my sisters did. I wondered if the resemblance made you smile.
In your hands, you held up books that would open my imagination.
Though you never considered yourself a scholar, your decision to read to me caused me to fall in love with books and has helped to set the course of my life. I don't remember what you read other than nursery rhymes, but reading has always been something I have loved and I can credit you for that.
By putting your hands together, you showed me how to pray.
My earliest memory is kneeling by my bed with hands folded, eyes shut, reciting prayers. As I grew in my knowledge of God and was compelled to follow a path different from yours, I knew my decision would create a problem for us. And yet if I did not walk the path shown to me, I would be doing something far worse. It's important for a mother to teach her child about that which is most dear to her. It's because I have strong convictions, like yours, that we have never been able to settle this matter.
Your hands kneaded the dough, and cut out cookies.
How fortunate I have been to have a mother who knew how to cook! All those pies and cookies we made represent a lot of what was good about my childhood. Though we won awards for our baked goods, the memory is better than any blue ribbon.
With your hands you could take whatever you had to create anything.
I learned resourcefulness from you, even though I know you wished you hadn't lived that lesson the way you always have. But you became good at turning one piece of clothing into another, a sheet into a costume or curtains, scraps of cloth into decorations.
The hands that made crafts to become gifts for others were yours.
Not only did you make do with anything with which you had to work, but also you never allowed your lack of money to keep you from giving gifts. You simply created gifts out of whatever you could find.
With your hands you made clothes for yourself and your children.
Your sewing skills won you awards and gave you the ability to create outfits for your daughters that would match yours. Wearing the green jacket you made for yourself allows me to wonder what you may have looked like when you were young and free.
By your hands, you prepared meal after meal.
We depended on you for your cherry dessert, the perfect pie crusts, and the many salads and desserts you came up with to take to school events and picnics. It never occurred to me how much work you did, just that you would be there to do it.
Holding your hands, we could safely cross any street.
You must have been praying when we tried to cross those busy streets in Chicago during our first family vacation. You wanted to give us the chance to see the world, though, so you helped us across the street.
Your hands clapped at my performances and accomplishments.
Piano recitals, band concerts, 4-H fashion shows, and even a cherry queen pageant. There you were, my biggest fan. Graduations were more difficult because I was closer to leaving the nest with each step. Maybe that was why my wedding was most difficult of all.
Your hands waved good-bye.
It must have bothered you to leave me at Michigan State University, as big as it is. There was a time after I declared what I believed in and how I was going to live my life that I wondered if you had waved good-bye to me for the last time. But your mother's love would not allow it.
Your hands were open, ready for hello.
Even after everything I have put you through--running off to Denver with twenty-five dollars and a backpack, turning a two-week vacation into a two-year stay; taking a job in Maryland and ending up in California still seeking my path; not taking the journalist position I was finally offered in the Colorado mountains because I didn't have money to get there and was too afraid to ask for more; having a wedding so foreign that you couldn't accept it--yet you still wanted me back. I'm finally old enough to realize that you will always want me back because that's the way mothers are.
Your hands have always reached out to those in your community.
The example you gave me when you made endless plates of cookies and sent cards to people for every occasion, but especially get-well cards, has served as a standard by which I can hope to live.
In your hands is a mother's love for your children and grandchildren.
A mother's love is that constant affection that goes beyond changing a sick child's bed or cleaning up messes when she has no energy left, especially in the middle of the night. You probably dreamed of a more glamorous existence, and I know you have wanted that for me. But fame and fortune don't equal love, especially the kind that covers a multitude of sins. And well-manicured, painted fingernails just aren't our style. Your example of caring for others has helped me to serve my family in a way that formal education could never accomplish. I'm sorry it has taken me so long to realize that.
By your hands, another generation goes forward.
Getting married and having my own family has been possible because I watched you do it and knew I wanted it, too. I just didn't want it as badly as you did or as soon. I judged you for making that your primary goal, when there were so many other possibilities. I hope you can forgive me for that, but I didn't understand motherhood at the time. When all is said and done, I know I will value my family as much as you have because that's what a mother does.
Your hands are more familiar to me now, for they resemble my own.
I've now held my own babies, shared my love for reading, and continued to teach them about God's love. I still bake the bread, make the cookies, and become resourceful creating gifts, clothing, and meals out of whatever I can find. I walk hand in hand with my little boys and cheer them on during soccer games and music performances. I haven't had to wave good-bye to them yet, but that day will come. Then I hope and pray that what you taught me and what I've taught them will help them make good decisions.
I'm still learning to be aware of the community and care for another's need more than my own. Someday, if I live long enough, I may have a grandchild who will want to know her great-grandmother. Then I will stretch out my worn, bony fingers with crackling dry skin and say, "I want to tell you all about her. Look, child, at my hands."
Love,
Mary Ellen
(The following letter was my entry in a writing contest that was chosen to be included in a book entitled, Dear Mom, I've Always Wanted You to Know, Daughters Share Letters From the Heart by Lisa R. Delman, 2005, published by the Penguin Group. She held this contest after nearly losing her mother and desiring to give women the chance to share with their mothers what remained unsaid.)
Dear Mama,
It may have happened while I was washing dishes, folding clothes, or writing a letter, but suddenly, without me even noticing it, my hands had been transformed into yours.
The closely cut fingernails, slightly enlarged knuckles, and even the same dryness crying out for a therapeutic lotion were now mine along with the fair complexion and freckles. I stopped what I was doing at the time to stare at my hands in disbelief as though something supernatural had just occurred. Whether I liked the resemblance was not an issue for I could not change reality. I began to think about all the ways your hands have molded me to be the woman I now am.
With your hands, you held me and cared for me when I was a baby.
As your first child, I know I was special to you, though I don't know if it was more disappointing to realize that you would not be naming me Jeffrey James, or that I was bald and had a deformed lip--a far cry from the Gerber baby you had imagined. Not only that, but when my hair came in a year later, it would be red, an unimaginable color in an all-brunette family. Several years ago when you admitted I looked more like you than my sisters did. I wondered if the resemblance made you smile.
In your hands, you held up books that would open my imagination.
Though you never considered yourself a scholar, your decision to read to me caused me to fall in love with books and has helped to set the course of my life. I don't remember what you read other than nursery rhymes, but reading has always been something I have loved and I can credit you for that.
By putting your hands together, you showed me how to pray.
My earliest memory is kneeling by my bed with hands folded, eyes shut, reciting prayers. As I grew in my knowledge of God and was compelled to follow a path different from yours, I knew my decision would create a problem for us. And yet if I did not walk the path shown to me, I would be doing something far worse. It's important for a mother to teach her child about that which is most dear to her. It's because I have strong convictions, like yours, that we have never been able to settle this matter.
Your hands kneaded the dough, and cut out cookies.
How fortunate I have been to have a mother who knew how to cook! All those pies and cookies we made represent a lot of what was good about my childhood. Though we won awards for our baked goods, the memory is better than any blue ribbon.
With your hands you could take whatever you had to create anything.
I learned resourcefulness from you, even though I know you wished you hadn't lived that lesson the way you always have. But you became good at turning one piece of clothing into another, a sheet into a costume or curtains, scraps of cloth into decorations.
The hands that made crafts to become gifts for others were yours.
Not only did you make do with anything with which you had to work, but also you never allowed your lack of money to keep you from giving gifts. You simply created gifts out of whatever you could find.
With your hands you made clothes for yourself and your children.
Your sewing skills won you awards and gave you the ability to create outfits for your daughters that would match yours. Wearing the green jacket you made for yourself allows me to wonder what you may have looked like when you were young and free.
By your hands, you prepared meal after meal.
We depended on you for your cherry dessert, the perfect pie crusts, and the many salads and desserts you came up with to take to school events and picnics. It never occurred to me how much work you did, just that you would be there to do it.
Holding your hands, we could safely cross any street.
You must have been praying when we tried to cross those busy streets in Chicago during our first family vacation. You wanted to give us the chance to see the world, though, so you helped us across the street.
Your hands clapped at my performances and accomplishments.
Piano recitals, band concerts, 4-H fashion shows, and even a cherry queen pageant. There you were, my biggest fan. Graduations were more difficult because I was closer to leaving the nest with each step. Maybe that was why my wedding was most difficult of all.
Your hands waved good-bye.
It must have bothered you to leave me at Michigan State University, as big as it is. There was a time after I declared what I believed in and how I was going to live my life that I wondered if you had waved good-bye to me for the last time. But your mother's love would not allow it.
Your hands were open, ready for hello.
Even after everything I have put you through--running off to Denver with twenty-five dollars and a backpack, turning a two-week vacation into a two-year stay; taking a job in Maryland and ending up in California still seeking my path; not taking the journalist position I was finally offered in the Colorado mountains because I didn't have money to get there and was too afraid to ask for more; having a wedding so foreign that you couldn't accept it--yet you still wanted me back. I'm finally old enough to realize that you will always want me back because that's the way mothers are.
Your hands have always reached out to those in your community.
The example you gave me when you made endless plates of cookies and sent cards to people for every occasion, but especially get-well cards, has served as a standard by which I can hope to live.
In your hands is a mother's love for your children and grandchildren.
A mother's love is that constant affection that goes beyond changing a sick child's bed or cleaning up messes when she has no energy left, especially in the middle of the night. You probably dreamed of a more glamorous existence, and I know you have wanted that for me. But fame and fortune don't equal love, especially the kind that covers a multitude of sins. And well-manicured, painted fingernails just aren't our style. Your example of caring for others has helped me to serve my family in a way that formal education could never accomplish. I'm sorry it has taken me so long to realize that.
By your hands, another generation goes forward.
Getting married and having my own family has been possible because I watched you do it and knew I wanted it, too. I just didn't want it as badly as you did or as soon. I judged you for making that your primary goal, when there were so many other possibilities. I hope you can forgive me for that, but I didn't understand motherhood at the time. When all is said and done, I know I will value my family as much as you have because that's what a mother does.
Your hands are more familiar to me now, for they resemble my own.
I've now held my own babies, shared my love for reading, and continued to teach them about God's love. I still bake the bread, make the cookies, and become resourceful creating gifts, clothing, and meals out of whatever I can find. I walk hand in hand with my little boys and cheer them on during soccer games and music performances. I haven't had to wave good-bye to them yet, but that day will come. Then I hope and pray that what you taught me and what I've taught them will help them make good decisions.
I'm still learning to be aware of the community and care for another's need more than my own. Someday, if I live long enough, I may have a grandchild who will want to know her great-grandmother. Then I will stretch out my worn, bony fingers with crackling dry skin and say, "I want to tell you all about her. Look, child, at my hands."
Love,
Mary Ellen
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