International Women’s Day, Mothering Sunday, Mothers’ Sunday, Mothers’ Day…different names, some with different dates, yet having the same central theme. There may be a myriad of days devoted in different countries around the world to celebrate women, especially mothers, but no matter how many days we set aside, they would never be enough to say thanks.
Today my WordPress mobile app informed me that someone had just read something I posted in 2015 for that year’s Mothering Sunday. Since today is devoted to celebrating mothers, I figured my pastor would have no qualms if I skipped listening to the announcements to reread the old post. So I read the wannabe poem, titled, “To My Mom and Every Other Mother”, and even though it specifically mentioned 2015, I shared it across different platforms. Nonetheless, I still felt I had to write something new for this year; so here I am, tapping at some keys and hoping the taps result in something coherent enough to show gratitude.
Some persons did not have my privilege—growing up with multiple loving moms. Wait a minute before you get it twisted. I didn’t grow in a polygamous home nor have a dad who remarried repeatedly. Nah, I lived with my family; with one mother, but many women could point to me as their son, and me point to them as my mothers. While some persons grew up resenting their moms, maybe because they abandoned them or they had some clashes, I grew up appreciating my moms, and I am still growing to love every one of them.
Growing up, I don’t ever recall hearing my biological mom tell me she loves me. You see, our home wasn’t the “lovey-dovey” type, but action always speaks louder than words, and my mom showed in her actions, her sacrifices, that she loved me and my siblings. In recent times, she has tried chipping in “I love you” during phone conversations, and while she somehow struggles with those words, I see her heart, and as long as I recall Pythagoras Theorem, I would never forget all her efforts to raise me. It’s not easy raising a kid who questions almost everything you say, and I can say she put in her best for me. Even the times I felt she was crying more than the bereaved, or in local parlance, “taking Panadol for my headache”, I realise it was just her motherly concern for me, and for that I am grateful.
The same can be said of my other mothers, many of them called “Auntie”. I remember an aunt helping me scrap plaque from my teeth during one primary school-era holiday. The hyper-questioning kid had all the time for books but no dental hygiene sense, so she stepped in to bail me out. Another aunt would bake cakes and meat-pies for me to take to school on resumption day, and many times include some useful currency notes with the pies. Despite my happiness over the free cakes I got to eat in my dormitory, she would sometimes complain whenever she couldn’t include naira notes with the cakes. I didn’t really care about the money she gave me, since my dad usually gave me enough pocket money, but her “apologies” showed her motherly heart. I could go one describing mothers who threw their doors open for me, those whose advice I came to cherish, even one whom I have never seen in person. The summary is that I’ve been truly blessed to have all these women around me.
Someday, it would be another Mothering Sunday, and I would have a wife and kids, and I do hope that I would have made the right choice because I want my kids to have the kind of privilege I enjoyed. They deserve it, or at least I owe them that. So that they too can look at their mom and be thankful, and other kids can look at her and be thankful. No matter where I go, or what I achieve, I would always be grateful to the women who influence(d) my life’s journey. I am thankful now, and would always be.
Happy Mothering Sunday Mom!
Image Credit: pinterest.com
——————
- I am glad I can dedicate this 200th post on my blog to my mothers.
Jilomes 