A Mother’s Love

Three moms. Three love stories. And one man’s life impacted indelibly. This is “A Mother’s Love”.

I had the good fortune of being raised by two mothers. And while the circumstances of my multiple-maternal household isn’t positive, the reality of that experience was still immensely beneficial. And it proved to shape how I viewed the layered qualities of strong, loving women.

For perspective, my grandmother, Ernestine, had my mother, Marian, at 16. My mom then gave birth to me 18 years later. At 34 years of age, my grandmother was at the same point in life I was when I became a dad for the first time. I bring up this point simply to express just how young was this dual-mom home — that I had two moms as young and younger as anyone I knew.

Living under my grandparents’ roof for the entirety of my adolescent years was not the plan. But, my teenage mom was too young to move out on her own in New York City. So, she finished school, earned her degree, got a job, saved her money, and improved her opportunity.

In the meantime, I got to enjoy an abundance of love and nurturing. My mother’s approach was overpowering - in a good sense - and very direct. But, that was her way with everything. You never had to wonder how she felt about something or someone. She’d tell you; honestly and without hesitation or concern. You can imagine my mom was also a strict disciplinarian, which I did not enjoy. However, I learned later in life it absolutely was necessary. My toughness comes from mom.

Grandma was different than my mom. She was more reserved and subtle on the surface. But I knew how deep her love ran. And, only in the way a mom can, she knew when to remind me. She knew when to crank it up, lest I’d forgotten. She knew when to come from behind the veneer.

And, only in the manner God can, He knew I would need a secondary source of maternal care ... a second mom, if you will. He knew I’d need my grandmother more than most others would.

Back to my mother: By the time she turned 28 (I’m now 10), her time had come. She was ready to take on the world. We were moving out of my grandparents’ home. We’re headed to Georgia. And then we weren’t. My mom was afflicted with Multiple Sclerosis. Her dreams were shattered. And for the next decade and a half, she would spend her life in and out of hospitals. When she was at home, she spent most her time confined to various parts of our house, but mostly to her room. My mother’s love, while always there for me, now had some limitations. She couldn’t see me as much as a mom would envision time spent with her child. She missed key events, such as graduations. I’m sure it was painful, all while she battled the pain & frustration of MS. And shortly before her 45th birthday, the pain went away. Her fight was over. But I’ll never forget her love. It was as omnipresent as anything I’ve ever known.

When my mom was not around, be it hospital stays or after her passing, grandma filled the void. After all, I was raised in her home. She was as much a mother to me as my mom. And she’s been my only living mother for the past 18 years. I do truly believe God felt he could call home my birth mother because he left me with another. My grandma was the mom at my graduations. She was the mom hugging me at my wedding. She is the mom on my side of the family that my kids know as ‘grandma’. Unfortunately, the only one.

Still, my children, too, are fortunate. Because, like me, they also have a mother who reminds me a lot of my two moms. My wife, Melissa, has at times shown that overpowering, direct love my mother embodied. At other times, she’s subtle, like grandma. She shows her three boys warmth in variety of ways. From “just because” affection, to an interest in all of their hobbies ... from love notes on lunch napkins, to having appreciation of conversation with them — and in all aspects of their lives, whether it’s trivial or important.

Best of all, Melissa has all the great motherly qualities as my moms. Yet, she’s not them. She’s her own beautifully different and refreshingly unique person. She brings her own brand of loving mom to our household. And it takes a special woman, as a non-black woman, to birth and love black children knowing the road ahead. Never confuse that last line with naivety. Melissa could never be accused of that. But therein lies her strength. Her heart only knows compassion, righteousness, peace, power, patience, virtue, and much more. I saw all of this in her before we became parents. I’ve seen it even more since.

In Melissa lies a similar resolve as my southern grandmother, the person to successfully create a family at 16 while migrating north. There’s the same type of solidity as my mother, the person who fought through so much of life’s adversity. My wife is more than I could’ve hoped for when envisioning a partner to share in the raising of a crazy boy home. I’ve questioned my own parental style a few times. But I’ve never doubted hers. Melissa has ensured that if, 20 years from now, one or all of our boys want to document their thoughts on the value of a loving mom, they’ll be able to express it as glowingly as I’ve attempted to do so now. As a father, that’s all I could ask.

I’ve witnessed three moms up close & personal. Each of them different, but all of them the same. Style of mothering doesn’t define a mom, unless it’s a bad one. For good moms, only the ‘love’ matters. A mother’s love is the vaccine children need. Give them the right dosage often enough, and every house will be a happy home. So, God bless to all the loving mothers all over the world.

Happy Mother’s Day.