A Mother's Day Moment

Mother's Day means so many different things to me.  The cynical side of me envisions the retail market wagging their tails at the possibilities for profits on another commercialized day to exploit.  Another side of me hopes for a full day of absolutely no diaper-changing, bath-giving, or bottle-feeding.  But, generally I stick with the warm, cozy side of me that embraces the joy and blessing that is motherhood. 

This year was no different for me except for a few new thoughts.  As I was Mother's Day card shopping and picking up my daughter's medication this past Wednesday, I was experiencing a stressful range of emotions.  My daughter caught the flu early in the week but by Wednesday it had quickly developed into pneumonia.  Last year, the same thing occurred at the same time of year.  Needless to say, on this evening I was feeling especially overwhelmed, concerned, and exhausted as I was floating through Walgreens.  As I was waiting on a long line for the pharmacist with my cards in one hand and my questions regarding all the medications in the other, I noticed three small children literally ransacking the first aid aisle.  The children appeared disorganized and were reacting to this outing frantically.  They were running from aisle to aisle and grabbing items off shelves then throwing them down to the ground.  They were burping out loud and laughing, talking very loudly and to whomever looked their way, and they were throwing random items at their father to buy.  I must confess that normally I would be distracted and possibly even bothered by this display of poor public behavior but the children were so exotic looking and adorable that I took notice a little bit more and quickly gathered a feeling there was more to this story than kids with poor manners. 

The father accompanying the children, to make matter more curious, seemed so loving yet exasperated, like he was trying to wrangle them together but was also trying to please them and tread lightly around them.  I started to soften up as I watched this 3 ring act unfold before me.  The oldest girl was probably 8 years old.  I was struck by how tangential she was, talking rapidly from topic to topic with little cohesion.  She was sweet and innocent and seemed to play the big sister role proudly though all over the place with thoughts and movement.  Her younger sister was following her big sister and younger brother around, just joining in with what they were tearing into.  She was a tiny little thing with a long, black ponytail that swung around as she moved.  The boy was maybe 5 years old and small.  I wanted to give him a Disney-style bath and haircut right then and there.  The father watched the little boy with especially loving eyes and would whisper something sweet to him and wrap his free arm around him as he whipped by.  I was intrigued so I listened to the father as he approached the clerk with a warm though deflated greeting. 

We were both up to the counter at the same time.  I quickly disregarded my questions list and probably seemed so rude to the clerk as I was brief in conversation so that I could listen to this man's tragic story unfolding.  The clerk asked about his wife and if she was recovering at all.  The tired father explained that she was in a facility and with hospice and would not be recovering, even stating that she was, "already gone."  My heart sank into my feet and my stomach just twisted into a knot.  I had a feeling before that there was something going on but this was breaking my heart!  The man continued to say only 5 cases exist nationally of this terrible rare disease she contracted and he was struggling to keep it together for the children.  I had to walk away....literally, I was getting dirty looks from the others waiting on line, unaware probably of what I was hearing. 

I knew, however, that I could not just walk away without saying something to this man, a stranger that I just wanted to hug and offer to whisk his children away for a whirlwind, every-kid's-fantasy type of weekend.  So, I walked down a few aisle, waiting for him to finish paying at the counter, and watching for him to walk away from the crowded pharmacy.  As they moved towards the parking lot, I moved up the aisles and out the store behind them.  The kids were all over the lot leaving cars stopped, their drivers shaking their heads.  I couldn't help but feel sadder and sadder for this father.  I walked to my car and quickly scribbled my name and phone number on a piece of paper and slowly approached with caution and compassion.  I was scared I would be offending him but clearly he was way too overwhelmed to notice me.  I excused myself, apologized for being intrusive, and offered him my crumpled note then stated that I was touched to tears to hear of his story and that I would be more than happy to help anyway I can.  With that, the three children clung to me; one on each leg and the oldest girl around my waist.  Ugh!  They were so lovable and needy!  My eyes started to well-up with tears as they all thanked me.  Thank me?!  This man deserves the accolades.  His sad, swollen face said it all.  He was doing his best to maintain composure, control, and order but all the while his suffering was infecting everything around him.  How could it not?

The point in sharing this is: as parents (or, in keeping with the theme of the holiday, as mothers), we simply want the best for our children and will go at any lengths to shield them from pain, suffering, loss, grief, etc.  Even though we sometimes feel too tired to play one more round of Candy Land or we snap at a simple request when the day has been nothing but demand after demand after demand or sometimes we give them ice pops just to occupy their mouths for five minutes so we can catch our breath...all of that is okay.  There is no handbook to follow or Magic Eraser for moments we wish did not unfold in public.  The fact is, no one said this was going to be easy and yet we continue to have children.  This is because no matter how long we have each other, our children enrich our lives to a level that we could not have reached if not for their presence.  This truly dawned on me, as philosophical as it may seem, as I drove away from that parking lot.  And though I may never hear from this man, I will never forget him nor the lesson he taught me about the power of unconditional parenting in the face of severe adversity.