Like Mother, like son

My precious Bärli,

For Mother’s Day, which I’m quickly realizing is NEVER about the mother and always about what others THINK the mother wants, I wore hideous earrings. Why? “I liked the color,” you said, when you explained your choice if earrings to me.

Fine. I wore them all day AND I think they almost infected my ear. Whatever.

My favorite part of today was our long Bluestem Train walk (which you call a “hike). I asked you if you’d want to stay with Lindy the day before my birthday, in a few weeks, to give me a day off from work. Your lower lip came out and you said you’d think about it. You told me you didn’t want to because it was a Friday night (news flash: you are 5 and you figured that out) and that was a night when you were allowed to sleep in my bed (weekend). You said it might be okay because “Lindy is like you.”

You’ve said this before, but it hit me today.

I cannot fathom a better compliment than to be compared to Momma. She is imperfectly perfect. Truly. The best she can possibly do? She does it.

Time and time and time again, she has put her family first. The ideal of “family” guides her – her biological family, her chosen family, her extended chosen family (e.g. your godparents are her children, too), etc. She is still teaching me that love does not have a capacity. I don’t have “only enough” love for you, Lindy, and Pop Pop. I have infinite love. I have space for people outside of my “core” little group, here in Dallas. Love grows and is made stronger by the exercise of its very strength.

So many children were made better people because of your grandmother – oh, that I could be like her. There is no finer legacy than to give a bright future to children. We know she has done that with her own kiddos and with her 5 grandsons; but, I cannot imagine how many children were impacted by her work as a teacher, as a volunteer, and as a “hands on” philanthropist in this city.

When you said that being with Lindy was like being with me? I just felt like I’d had a very small victory as a Momma.

You know, I remember the very moment I started calling her “Momma.” When Grammy died, we were left in the room together. I envisioned losing my grandparents, but I never really knew about the stillness in the room, after they’d died. Mimi and Pop didn’t get the right death, but Grammy and Granddaddy did. They died in the room, where they’d talked about their daughters/grandchildrens’ futures, screamed about turning off the Christmas lights earlier, cried about the loss of a sibling, loved in such a beautiful way. They both died in their bedroom on Courtshire. Beautiful.

My mother was weeping over the body of her precious, much beloved mother. Linda said, “Momma.” She said it quite a few times, quietly, in her mother’s ear. I knew I’d always call Lindy, “Momma.”

Mother’s Day doesn’t have to be about anything big. It can just be about remembering that when we woke up, Godmomma, Anna, Lindy, Cash, Eliza, Winston, and you were all together and your Momma was there. Or? It can be a memory that calls Lindy your “Lindy Momma” because that’s how I’ve started thinking of her, when I think of the two of you.

For me? Today was rough. In many ways. I didn’t see people my heart wanted to see.

But, it was amazing in more ways. So, I’m going to sleep thankful.

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