First and Greatest

The saying "women will always turn out to be their mothers" has always sounded like a curse to me. The context in which I would usually hear it would be negative. They would be criticisms about mom's point of view, how she never seemed to understand, the physical features we inherited, or the "outdated" look she never seems to give up, sometimes even the "twisted" way we think.

I for one am fearful about the "bad" habits I may have inherited in her, and which may unknowingly manifest themselves as I grow towards her age now. I remind myself not to think like she does, to be less high-strung and uptight, to be more forward-thinking, more prudent in decision-making, but more adventurous when going for opportunities. It's so much easier to think about the things I Don't want to be, because that's what my mom is. It's much more difficult to think about the things I must be emulating.

And why is that? I think it's because I am simply afraid to do so. And to do so means conceding. I will concede to the person who stands as the first moral authority I have ever known, but with whom I do not always agree with. It would mean I will eat my words and lose face (to whom?). I would give in to the establishment, and I feel that acquiescence will leave me trapped forever. It's always easier to find fault because it makes you feel more superior, makes you feel like a better human being than others.

And yet, it is mom who taught me to be a human being in the first place. And as the years wear on, life's experiences hit you from all directions, and I slowly, carefully tread the path that leads to motherhood, I realize why it was much easier to see everything wrong and ignore what was right. I think it's because I am afraid. I am afraid because I feel I may never measure up to the things she has accomplished. I think I don't need to enumerate the things she has done here because everyone else will have a story to top the ones other people have about their mothers. But suffice it to say the things she has done for our family have as yet not been topped by anyone I have ever met in my life, to date. And I wonder, for all the wrong things I would perceive her to be doing and thinking, would I not have thought or done the same? Or, could I really have done better? I wouldn't know, because I wasn't her. But because of her decisions, our family has pulled through so much, and remains in tact, after all those years.

It's been said that to be a mother means to decide to forever have your heart go walking around outside your body. And how my mom has decided cut up her heart five times is beyond me. It must be a daily struggle to see and hear things from your own children that hurt you; and yet these are things a mother will never tell her children she feels. The loneliness must be stifling, the darkness unabating. But my mom, like all mothers, persevered.

Will I be able to bear that? Will I be able to set aside the selfishness and ego that is required when a female becomes a mother? Will I live through the heartache and longing, absolute happiness and despair that comes with motherhood? People (friends who have become moms) say there is a deep well that rises in place of the void left by the amniotic sac. This is where all women draw their strength, love, patience, compassion and fierce protectiveness for their young. This is when you realize you become more than you ever think you could be. This is when women become the most powerful human beings in the world. And this is when mothers become the first and greatest loves of our lives.

I have since found that the quote at the beginning of this post actually has a continuation. It turns out, it's a quote from Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Honest. It goes:

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his.

Mothers will always be mothers and all other women can do is to hope that one day, the can be as great as their own moms. I know I want to. And I happily await the day that I can start calling myself a mother. Happy Mother's Day, Mama.