The only picture I possess showing me as a little child in my mother's arms, is one where the camera blurred her face. The symbolism of that photographic error is quite profound. Due to harsh life circumstances, I never felt like I got enough of my mother. She had rheumatic fever as a child that was not treated with antibiotics and it damaged her heart valves. After child number six, my brother, Lowell, she was warned by the doctor that she might not live through another pregnancy. I was born sixteen months later. Early in the pregnancy, the physician recommended a therapeutic abortion, so as not to endanger my mom's life. She switched doctors and carried me full term, but it took its toll on her already compromised health. My sister Sharon, who was ten when I was born, remembers that they put my crib in her bedroom and my grandma showed her how to heat the milk to feed me the bottle; she says that some mornings our dad would come into her bedroom and tell her that she was going to have to stay home from school that day; mom was just too tired to get out of bed. 

Nearly five years later, my daddy drowned in an ice fishing accident. That summer, mom's health deteriorated so much that they took her to The Cleveland Clinic to repair the injured valve. She was hospitalized for a month but never fully recovered; she was tired so much of the time. She never got up on school mornings to get us breakfast or pack our lunches. (The up side to that was that as a first grader, I got to choose and pack my own lunch: heaven for a budding foodie.) Mostly, I was an obedient child. I think that I was afraid that if I misbehaved, no one would notice.

My mother was the kindest person you could imagine. I remember her listening on the phone for hours to friends who had problems in their lives. This was in the day before cell phones so our kitchen telephone cord was stretched to the max as she worked around the kitchen with the receiver cradled between her ear and shoulder. Life dealt her many hard blows, but she was so empathetic to others. She developed an interest in healthy eating and vitamins. Her source of knowledge was prevention magazine. She read that the blood thinner she was taking because of her artificial heart valve, Coumadin, was used in the manufacturing of rat poison, and that Vitamin E was a natural blood thinner. She weaned herself off the Coumadin and ingested Vitamin E in its place. For several years, she felt that she was a walking miracle; and then, one month shy of my fifteenth birthday, she threw a clot in her brain, resulting in a massive, life-altering stroke. For us four youngest offspring still at home, we bid "farewell" to childhood and we became the adults. She lived for 20 more years, but we had lost the mother we knew and loved. Over the ensuing years, all seven of us siblings took care of her, as a way of honoring her and the life she had given us. 

I have a permanent wound from a lack of mothering and nurturing. There, I've said it out loud. This is unchartered territory for me, because acknowledging that makes me feel ungrateful. God has been a father to the fatherless (that would be me), and many people have stood in the gap for me, not the least of whom are my older siblings. And there are orphans who had it worse than me. But I must also accept the coal that is in my own basket. In my life, I have mostly chosen to view the glass as half full, rather than half empty. God's grace has guided me and protected me and healed me, and I am grateful. But like all of us, in some way, I am wounded. I needed more of my mother than I got. 

She died on Christmas Day, 1996, at my sister Trish's home. I remember because we were in Sarasota, Florida, with all of Larry's family, celebrating his parents' 50th wedding anniversary. All ten children, spouses, and grandchildren were going on a three day cruise together to celebrate and enjoy each other's company. Instead of setting sail, Larry and I and our three young kids flew back to Ohio to help plan my mom's funeral. Six year old Christopher was so torn with sadness at losing a grandma and then having to miss a 3 day excursion with cousins, he went into a closet and wept.  I remember how surreal it seemed to see her for the first time in the casket. I touched her cold hand and thought how happy she must be in heaven, healed and whole and in the presence of Jesus. I thought how I will never know this side of eternity, why she seemed to have way more than her share of heart aches and hardships. And at the graveside, as we lowered her spent body into the ground, I remember the cold, December wind that blew my coat open. I remember thinking, "I don't really care if I'm cold. There's a permanent hole in my heart." Everyone needs a mother and misses her when she's gone. 

In the ensuing months, I grieved, but started to feel closure as I pictured my mom in heaven, healed, walking and talking, and worshipping and I feel quite certain, gardening. :) And then it was the first week in May, and I happened to run into a drug store to pick something up. There were the rows and rows of beautiful Mother's Day cards, giving verbal bouquets to someone's mother. It hit me that I would never again buy another Mother's Day card for the woman who had given me life. I fled the store and sobbed in the safety of my van. That was only Wednesday and I had to somehow get through Sunday. My sweet four year old daughter, Lauren, took care of that. Sunday morning my active 2, 4 and 6 year old children were being so kind and sweet; I am sure their precious father had sat them down and told them that I might be sad that day because it was my first Mother's Day without my mother. Lauren and I had matching dresses, made from a red and white checked fabric, to wear to church. We were dressed and ready to leave when Lauren looked at me with a tilted head, and said, "Mom you look kinda like Raggedy Ann". Well, I howled with laughter, and she was spot on; Raggedy Ann always wore white and red checked clothes. I realized in a fresh way how special it was to be a mother to my kids and I had the most wonderful day!

God has used the privilege of being a mother to my children as one of the most healing experiences in my own mother wound. I savored my time with them when they were little and dependent on me, and now that they are adults, I treasure their friendship. I love them more than life itself!

After that first motherless Mother's Day, I realized that I had been given another most special gift: God gave me three amazing sisters. We are all different and at our own unique places in life, but we have an underlying bond that is unbreakable. When we are together, we turn into silly girls, giggling at the most inappropriate and unexplainable things. (You brothers and brothers-in-law don't need to agree that heartily!) My theory is that we are reclaiming part of our lost childhood. At least once or twice a year, we make a sisters' weekend happen and revel in being together. Inevitably, when we all meet up at the airport and open our carry-on bags, we each have a select stash of fresh and dried fruits and nuts, just in case we get hungry. Anyone who knew our mom will recognize that these apples didn't fall far from that tree. :) Here are some photos documenting our good times together. 

Linda, Trish, and Sharon, I give you my love on this Mother's Day, for all that you are to me. And please promise me that when we are old and rocking in our chairs together, we will still be giggling, even if we don't know what we are giggling about!