A MOTHER'S DAY TRIBUTE

It's 1:30 a.m., and the house is quiet except for a loud cricket beneath the window. I've been staring at a blank laptop screen, struggling to find the perfect words for a Mother's Day tribute.  You might be thinking, "For crying out loud, Patti.  You're a writer … it should be easy."  Well, I'll tell you a secret:  There are times when words hide in the recesses of my heart … preventing the raw emotions from surfacing and damming up a lake of tears.  This is one of those times, but through prayer, some gentle prodding from the Holy Spirit and a box of Kleenex nearby I am ready.

I hate to burst anyone's bubble, but I was not the perfect daughter.  The word that comes to mind to describe my past behavior is "reprehensible."  During those "dark days," I would lash out at my mother and blame her for my actions.  Why?  Because in my booze-soaked, self-pitying, self-indulgent brain, I was convinced she hated me and considered me a failure.   She would encourage me to strive for a better life, and all I heard was, "You aren't good enough." She would invite me to come home to work things out, and all I heard was, "You are not capable of being on your own."   She would suggest I go back to church, and all I heard was, "You're going to hell." I twisted all of her words of love and support into a declaration of my inadequacies. I would thank her by spewing out a mouthful of vile and demeaning comments. 

Praise God those days are long gone.  I am so grateful to have had a few years of clarity before she passed away. God blessed me with the time to tell her how sorry I was for all the pain I had given her and to say what an incredible mother she was.  Blame turned into gratitude.  Gratitude for a life that overflows with blessings beyond belief.  A life that would have otherwise continued down the path of self-destruction had it not been for her faith, strength, and unconditional love.

Thank you, mom, for never giving up on me.  Not a day goes by that I don't think of you, miss you, and thank God for being your daughter.  It's now 2:30 a.m.  The dam broke, and tears are flowing – but that's okay.  Mom, you are worth every one of them. 

On the day my mom passed away I wrote this poem about her and my aborted babies.