Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy.
My daughter told me tonight, with shock and shame on her face, that she hadn’t made me anything for Mother’s Day. We moms always say we don’t need anything but a hug right? I admit, there was a little twinge of the feeling of being “forgotten,” but it really is ok. She doesn’t know how much I love her and I can’t hold that against her. I know how this goes.
The longer I live and the more I experience, I am definitely more thankful for and appreciative of my own mother. Yet length of days and the swell in my heart over my own children hasn’t allowed me to understand the extent of her love for me as her child. I believe she will always have the upper hand and love me more than I can know.
It’s bitter and beautiful all at once, the way life goes. When my little doll face looks at me sad because she “forgot,” it’s not really a hug that I want. She used to kiss me on the lips with a smile, love to cuddle, and let me tell her how cute she was. But this can’t last forever. She is meant to keep getting taller and moving farther. I am meant to teach her how to do that well. It’s bitter and she doesn’t see why because she can never know my joy. All these memories coming from looking through my own heart, out of my own
eyes. . .
So Mother’s Day may not come with homemade gifts. I’ll get some extra hugs and I’m happy for that. And I won’t tell them that they can never know; I’ll always love them “bigger.”