For My Mother 1902 - 1999

My Mother’s Hands

I saw them again tonight--my mother’s hands.
I have never thought that they were very pretty.
Not particularly ugly--just not pretty.
Projections at the end of her arms,
Stubby fingers, arthritic knots on the joints,
Big dark veins surrounded by loose skin
Darkened and spotted by the sun.

For some reason, I have always shrunk
From the touch of my Mother’s hands.
But, tonight when I saw her hands,
Stubby fingers, knotty joints,
Loose skin overlapping the big blue veins
Running through the sun spots,
Projections at the end of my own arms,
I missed her terribly.

And I let her touch my soul,
And it was beautiful.

© 2002 Ilene Madrigal
All Rights Reserved

Mother's Day 2006

A Mother’s Day Tribute to My Children

What is a mother? And what makes her special to her children? Age old questions that only a child can answer. But today, from a mother’s perspective, I felt it was time to pay tribute to those who make motherhood possible. Mother’s Day seems like the perfect time to honor all those sons and daughters who make the term MOTHER a reality.

I have the greatest honor of being a Mother to five beautiful men and women. Some of you I carried under my heart for nine months before you were laid in my arms - precious packages of baby sweetness and love that no doubt had always been a part of my heart. Some of you came to me - trembling little children wondering who this woman was that had married your father - precious packages of delight and love who at that very instant found your own way into my heart as if I had always known you. But be assured, I have carried all of you in my heart everywhere I go since that first moment I laid eyes on you.

I had no training at being a Mother. Who has? There have been many parenting books written, but there just really isn’t any particular book that can prepare any woman for the awesome responsibility of being a Mother. It’s a kind of ‘do or die’ procedure and in my case God must have had a great sense of humor when He sent all you to be my children because I certainly would never have chosen myself to be a mother.

What a ride it has been. I remember when all of you thought I knew everything. I remember when all of you didn’t think I knew anything. I remember times when you didn’t want to let go of my hand. I remember times when you didn’t want to be seen in the same state with me. I remember times when you never wanted to leave my side. I remember times when I thought you would never come home again. I remember times when you would ask me for advice and it was OK when you didn’t listen. I remember times, very recently in fact, that you gave me advice and sometimes I don’t listen! I hope that is OK too. I remember times when I stood by your side while you made major life choices. I remember this past year when you stood by my side while I made life altering choices. How can anyone write a book that covers all that. Because each of you are different. Each child comes with his or her own unique personality and spirit. And that is what makes a mother - just stumbling through the process and loving every moment of it.

And that is the beauty of it all -- that there really isn’t any particular right way or wrong way to be a Mother -- as long as there is love. God in all his wisdom must have understood that “Love covers a multitude of sins.” So my dear children, I hope that whatever I lacked in experience has been covered by my love for you all.

You all gave me wonderful gifts for Mother’s Day. Books and cards that say just the right thing at the right time, flowers that remind me of your beauty, symbols of love to place in my garden, taking time out of your busy schedule to spend a day with me -- all precious memories that bear the fragrance of love. But your greatest gift of all, my dear sons and daughters, is the privilege of being your Mother. Without each and every one of you, I would never have understood what it means to be a Mother.

And so today, on Mother‘s Day, I want to pay tribute to you all, the wonderful men and women, my sons and daughters, some by birth and some by choice, who honor me by calling me their Mother.

I love you all.
Your Mama, Momma, Marmer, Mom

© 2006 Ilene Madrigal