If you’ve ever posted on social media that, “my mother is better than yours,” I’ve cringed at your words. Because no matter how incredibly great your mother is, I don’t wish for a mother better than mine. I will always and only “just want my mommy.”
I’m about to turn 40-years old, and I swear to you when I say that only my mother can make everything ok for me. My poor retired nurse mom has had to accompany me to get my blood drawn because I decided I needed to come close to fainting a couple times in recent years, and she experienced the joy of my prepping for a colonoscopy at her home. Of course, that was followed by the joy of her driving me to the appointment and being there when I awakened and staying with me into the early-night because she read in the doctor’s notes that I shouldn’t be left alone for a certain number of hours.
She’s the one that I call when I don’t know what to do. She’s the one that I call before I call the doctor. She’s the one that my boyfriend called before he took me to the emergency room for an unbearable migraine headache. I’m nearly positive that if my arm had fallen off, I’d call my mother first just to hear her tell me I should not have called her first and that I should call 911 before I become unconscious. But, the truth is, I will have called her first because I know she’ll come running, and I know that if I can’t make it through a blood draw without her, I’m going to need her there when they sew back on my arm.
She’s the mother I watched receive the call that her own mother had died on the day that I “officially” made her a mother (that’s my birthday for those of you keeping score). And, God help me when I say that in a world where death isn’t optional, that was the most perfect timing for my grandmother to pass for me.
So, as I watched Steve Hartman’s On The Road piece about mothers, I heard his kids come to the same realization I had many years ago. Your mother is better than my mother for you. And, my mother is better than your mother for me.
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