Motherhood Isn’t All Flowers and Candy

Many cannot imagine Mother’s Day other than a happy time. Her day is set aside for bouquets, cards, telephone calls, special meals and all sorts of presents from jewelry to lovingly procured junque. For those whose mothers have passed away, it’s a day of reflection, thinking oh, for just this day, if we could go back and hold her hand or be held by her just for this day, then all would be right.
From a father’s vantage, motherhood is something we simply cannot understand. We may try to figure out that intangible bond, but that is much the same as imagining labor pains, it cannot be fathomed. We are left to puzzle over what it means to have that innate sense that comes as part of the maternal instinct.
Many animals possess that mothering instinct, although some do not. Ostriches, for example, simply lay eggs and that’s it. It’s pretty much the same with turtles, not much mothering aside from knowing when it’s time to lay eggs. Find a high spot, dig a nest, lay the eggs, then it’s back into the wild.
Having visited South Woods State Prison a year ago, I wonder what a mother must think when she visits her son there, or in any prison or jail, on Mother’s Day. Prisons are dismal places. The very sound of the metal doors crashing closed sent a shiver up my spine.
Although accompanied by a contingent of guards, we were still in the presence of men who were spending sentences for a wide variety of crimes for varying lengths of time.
Imagine the thoughts that go through a mother’s mind as she drives, or is driven to such a correctional center for a brief visit on a day when other mothers are being showered with gifts. Many mothers, who never quit believing in their children, probably believe their boy (regardless of age) is just taking the rap for someone else. They refuse to believe that their own flesh and blood was capable of committing a crime. Further, they most likely believe that the judicial system was stacked against their offspring.
Such sentiments aside, what must a mother experience as she walks through the metal detector, having put all her possessions out for a guard to inspect? It is a humbling experience for those who go through airport security screening; it is much the same entering into a prison.
How does a mother maintain courage and composure as she walks to a semi-private booth, picks up a telephone, and addresses her beloved on the other side of thick glass, attired in prison-issued garb?
It becomes a picture of life’s other side. All the good intentions of childhood must race through a mother’s head. In a moment in time she thinks of birthday presents and parties, holiday gifts lovingly procured, wrapped and given, years helping with homework and school projects, and then, it all came to a crashing halt.
Somewhere, sometime, evil took over the offspring’s mind. In many cases, as Superior Court Judge Raymond Batten once stated, the great majority of cases that he would see daily resulted from the use of drugs or alcohol. Surely, if either of those substances, separately or in combination were shunned, many who wear prison orange would be on the outside not incarcerated.
If they had had the courage to, at some point “just say no,” their mother would be spared from the agony of seeing them, visiting them on Mother’s Day from the other side of a thick glass wall, speaking via telephone.
In a similar line of thought, consider mothers who will be visiting their children in state developmental centers, such as those in Woodbine or Vineland. Those are not places where we ordinarily think of celebrating Mother’s Day, but many will be spending their day in such places.
Still others will be spending the day, set aside to laud motherhood, in hospitals with grievously ill children. Once again, we see the resurgence of hope and the value all mothers place in faith and healing. I doubt many visit those hospital rooms without uttering a prayer or two for the healing of their child. We know patients of all ages rally when they hear that familiar voice when visiting hours occur.
Another group of mothers who must be remembered on Mother’s Day are working moms. The day is a busy one for restaurants which specialize in serving dinners to mothers. Think how many mothers are actually there, serving other mothers, because they must work to put food on their family’s table. Who will serve them? Who will pin a pretty flower on their dress as they don a uniform and head off to hustle plates between kitchen and table?
Yes, mothers are unsung heroes. They stay up late, get up early, and are willing to do anything for their children. Why? Because of a four letter word: LOVE. Best part about a mother’s love is it isn’t that cheap variety that Hollywood likes to portray. It’s real, down-to-earth, no-nonsense love in action. It’s the kind that doesn’t mind wiping off a bloody nose or telling one more story at bedtime. It’s the kind of love that will go to any extreme, as I’ve tried to explain here, to nurture their offspring, always their “little girl” or “little boy” regardless of chronological age.
I will venture that most mothers, while they greatly appreciate gifts lavished upon them on this special day, would truly rather have a hug and a kiss from their children than anything else in the whole wide world. It’s just the way mothers are.