**I know this a tad long for a blog post, but indulge me, especially if you know my mom***Over the course of my life, I've never been told I look like my mom. My younger sister heard it often, but me? My mother and I look nothing alike. She is fair-skinned, 5’3” with blue eyes and blond hair. I am olive-skinned, 5’8” with hazel eyes and brown hair. Our personalities are quite different as well. She is the consummate mediator and resident saint. I have a temper and struggle with forgiveness. Everyone (and I do mean that literally) who has ever met my mother falls in love with her free spirit, easy-going attitude and her teary-eyed laugh. She is the ultimate comforter, a skilled listener and a compassionate soul. I, on the other hand, make friends at a snail’s pace, am more of an introvert and am hesitant to become emotionally-vested in anyone’s life beyond my familial circle.
Growing up, my friends flocked to my mother and she was always there to listen, guide and hug. While I have always adored my mom, seeing how effortlessly she diffused heated situations and calmed frayed nerves caused me to feel a bit distant from
her. I just could never relate to or understand her selfless motivation. How could she constantly put her own needs and interests on the back-burner so that she could nurture the needs and interests of others? She would not think twice about completely disappearing into the life of her children, if it meant that we would flourish.
I remember looking at pictures of my mom from her grade school days searching for some hint of my nose, eyes or even ears. I wanted so badly to look like her but my fruitless search left me asking, "Who are you? What are your dreams and aspirations?” I’ve never really known the answer. I do know that the answer changed once I and my siblings entered the scene. Perhaps the little girl in the white lace dress smiling back at me from those black and white photos dreamed of a life full of adventurous escapades, exotic travel and lavish celebrations. Perhaps.
But life unfolds, as life tends to do. As the path of her journey progressed from one of endless possibility to a clearly marked paved road, my mother’s aspirations for herself obviously changed. We became the embodiment of her dream. My mom has always been so incredibly happy watching us bloom. Subsequently, her support, love and warmth have been constants in our lives. She has been an unwavering example of grace, mercy and kindness. When I was completely unlovable, she always loved. When I was utterly incorrigible, she encouraged. When I gave into my anger, she wrapped her arms around me and softened the pain, all while expecting nothing in return.
It really wasn’t until I had children of my own that I actually recognized a common thread between us. I too have no problem disappearing into my children so that they may flourish. Even though we live hundreds of miles apart, I learn from my mom every day. Whatever challenge my children present, I tap into the wisdom that she instilled in me and try my best to show them the same love that she showed me.
I'll probably never look like my mom. I'm ok with that now. But, the older I get, the less important it is for me to resemble her in appearance and the more I strive to resemble her in character. If someone sees my mom in me, through my actions, demeanor or in the way I relate to my kids, I’ll consider myself a success.
Growing up, my friends flocked to my mother and she was always there to listen, guide and hug. While I have always adored my mom, seeing how effortlessly she diffused heated situations and calmed frayed nerves caused me to feel a bit distant from
her. I just could never relate to or understand her selfless motivation. How could she constantly put her own needs and interests on the back-burner so that she could nurture the needs and interests of others? She would not think twice about completely disappearing into the life of her children, if it meant that we would flourish.I remember looking at pictures of my mom from her grade school days searching for some hint of my nose, eyes or even ears. I wanted so badly to look like her but my fruitless search left me asking, "Who are you? What are your dreams and aspirations?” I’ve never really known the answer. I do know that the answer changed once I and my siblings entered the scene. Perhaps the little girl in the white lace dress smiling back at me from those black and white photos dreamed of a life full of adventurous escapades, exotic travel and lavish celebrations. Perhaps.
But life unfolds, as life tends to do. As the path of her journey progressed from one of endless possibility to a clearly marked paved road, my mother’s aspirations for herself obviously changed. We became the embodiment of her dream. My mom has always been so incredibly happy watching us bloom. Subsequently, her support, love and warmth have been constants in our lives. She has been an unwavering example of grace, mercy and kindness. When I was completely unlovable, she always loved. When I was utterly incorrigible, she encouraged. When I gave into my anger, she wrapped her arms around me and softened the pain, all while expecting nothing in return.
It really wasn’t until I had children of my own that I actually recognized a common thread between us. I too have no problem disappearing into my children so that they may flourish. Even though we live hundreds of miles apart, I learn from my mom every day. Whatever challenge my children present, I tap into the wisdom that she instilled in me and try my best to show them the same love that she showed me.
I'll probably never look like my mom. I'm ok with that now. But, the older I get, the less important it is for me to resemble her in appearance and the more I strive to resemble her in character. If someone sees my mom in me, through my actions, demeanor or in the way I relate to my kids, I’ll consider myself a success.
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