Even though I’m blessed to be sandwiched between my mother a few miles down the road and two beautiful daughters actually in the house (this weekend anyway), Mother’s Day still leaves me with mixed feelings.
I miss the middle daughter I’m not raising, even though she’s in the best Hands where she is.
And I miss the mother that could kiss all my hurts away and make everything alright in the morning, even though she’s still here.
The realization that moms don’t have superpowers comes slowly. Even though I’m a grown woman myself, I still have days when I want to call my mother and whine about trivial things and have her assure me, “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
But the older I get, the more our roles rotate. Seasons change, and I must change with them.
As I watch my mother age and her memories fade, I need my memories to stay strong. Of the new ones we're making now. And of my mother in the early days. When she could sew up any kind of rip. Cook food for whatever occasion. Give comforting advice to every aching heart.
I want to honor her for those days by being good to her in these days. Being her daughter continues to shape who I am. So I rise up and call her blessed (Proverbs 31:28).
She is still my Supermom. Not just on Mother’s Day, but Every Day.