Motherhood

Two emotions come to my mind when I think about motherhood. The first is love, of course, which I felt instantly. The second emotion took me awhile to recognize.

I had a difficult time conceiving and suffered through a miscarriage the first few years of my marriage. During this time I was very focused on getting pregnant and talked myself into believing that when I became pregnant my worries would be over. Of course this was foolish thinking. After I heard the glorious news of my pregnancy, my mind quickly raced to the concern of keeping the baby safe in my womb. This was understandable, I told myself, with my history. As the first 3 months passed and the baby grew, I began to worry about delivering a healthy baby. Again, a normal concern. After my son was born healthy(9 lbs 9 oz - thank you very much) , I felt relief at long last. Then I realized that I was a little worried about getting through the first 3 months of infancy and then I began focusing on the first year of development - was he crawling, walking, saying his first words on schedule? Yes, yes, yes. All is good. Then the little scoundrel started climbing trees. Good Lord. When will this worry end? It is around this time that I remembered my grandmother.

When she was 93, my grandmother was slowly slipping away from us. She stayed in her bed for the last year of her life while my parents cared for her in their home with the help of hospice. One day the hospice counselor came to the house. She saw that my grandmother was very weak and suffering through her final days but was tenaciously clinging to life, determined not to let go. Hospice was here to help guide her peacefully through these final steps. This kind woman softly asked my grandma if she was afraid to let go and if there was anything she needed to do before she met God. My grandmother answered meekly but matter-of-factly, like the answer should be obvious. "Who'll take care of Patsy?" Patsy, her only child, my mom, who had been married to my dad for decades and had 4 children who loved her. She was, to my grandmother, her responsibility. My grandmother, as she lay dying, was worried about her daughter.

That's when it hit me. The magnificent love we have for our children carries with it a heavy load of worry. It never ends. Now my son is a teenager and talks about driving and other ridiculous things. (With this eventuality looming over me, my worry knows no bounds.) I also see the love and worry on my sisters face as she talks about her son who is fighting a war in Afghanistan. Each of us has our own list of worries but in the end it all comes down to the universal maternal love we have for our children. It's a tough job, motherhood, but we are so blessed to have it. The greatest job.