Having my birthday in the middle of May means that it’s never far from Mother’s Day.
I treasure the proximity of those two dates. They are a reflection and reminder of the relationship I have with my mother as her only child — we have always been each other’s.
When I was about 3 or 4, I told my mother over the phone that I knew how to spell “mummy” and I spelt it for her: “M-u-m-m-m-m-e”.
I didn’t get it right but I remembered her laugh — she was proud of me anyway. “M-u-m-m-y”, I later repeated after her.
When I was 8, I accused my mother of forgetting that my birthday was just around the corner.
What I didn’t know, was that the world didn’t revolve around me and I wasn’t the one who suffered massive blood loss and risked her life to birth her only child. So there was really no way my mother could forgotten such a day.
“May your father and mother rejoice; may she who gave you birth be joyful!” (Proverbs 23:25)
When I was 10, I received an award in school. I don’t remember what the award was for anymore but I remember how surprised I was seeing my mother in the audience. It was a work day.
I remember her red lipstick, how she smiled at me and how proud she was.
When I was 13, my mother sent me to school every morning even though it meant that she had to wake up before dawn and drive long distances for me.
Whether it was a strawberry-flavoured Polar Swiss roll or a bowl of instant porridge, she made sure I had food in my stomach before I went to school.
When I was 17, I drew the curtains one day and discovered a little stone tablet by my window sill. Decorated with painted flowers, it also had these words engraved on them: “Day by day, love for a daughter only grows.”
My mother never mentioned anything about that little stone tablet, and neither did I.
But I knew she placed it there. And that gesture cracked something open within me. Reading those words that I had never heard in person — my heart began to warm to the idea that my mother loves me.
It’s a strange kind of tension: I know that my mother loves me very much, especially when I look back on precious moments over the years. But I did feel as if there had been a gulf created by unmet expectations and certain disappointments.
I am 24 now. And in all our years together, there have been no few hurtful words I’ve said to her and many more nice words I should have said but never did … I was too shy or too afraid.
I’m celebrating another birthday in a few days’ time — right after Mother’s Day. And when I look back on my 25th birthday, these are some things I hope I’ll be able to say:
- When I was 25, I told my mother that I love her.
- I put aside the fear that I will never match up to her or do her proud, and simply loved her.
- I bought her flowers even though she said that she’s not a “celebration” kind of person.
- I wrote her a card even though I’m not used to expressing my affection to her.
I wish I had the courage or the wisdom to realise this earlier: That I need to take responsibility for my life and words, and steer it in the direction God wants it to go.
“May your father and mother rejoice; may she who gave you birth be joyful!” (Proverbs 23:25)
I used to think that my mother would be happier if she had a different daughter – someone smarter and more capable.
But that thinking isn’t beneficial, and it doesn’t help me be a better daughter. Only I get to love my mother the way I can. And by God’s grace I do and will.
Mummy, a thousand thank-yous won’t even begin to scratch the surface of what I owe you, but I’ll just have to start with gratitude and hope it makes a difference. Happy Mother’s Day — I love you.
