As Sunday approaches, I'm grateful for my own mother, though she's 13,500km away. And I remember women for whom Mother's Day marks a less-than-happy occasion: those trying for years to conceive; those who've lost children, or those whose dreams of health and happiness for their child have been shattered; for those whose own mums have died. For a friend whose husband passed away unexpectedly this month, leaving her to raise three boys without their dad.
There are empty-nesters longing to see adult children who live too far away (sorry, Mom) and mums aching to communicate with children who've distanced themselves emotionally because those adult kids falsely imagine grudge matches have winners. There are step-mothers who invest time and talent into children not biologically theirs. Some of those children will appreciate the stand-in's sacrifice; many will not.
I'm mindful of these heartbreaks lived by women in all phases of life. It's especially tough to consider how lucky I am when my own kids are squabbling in the next room, when "She hit me!" is followed by, "No, I didn't!" It's easy to forget the universe has handed you one of life's great miracles when you're consistently telling your miracles, "I'm not your servant", with all the conviction of a jailhouse convert.
You mother like mad, grumble to friends, lean on them for help, then marvel at the warm sensation of love coursing from fingertips to heart to head when, during a walk, your teenaged daughter takes your hand. And holds it tight.
I recall what other mothers have told me - something I've only recently started to grasp: these two children who take turns filling my soul and stomping it will soon fly the coop.
It'll mean no more refereeing fights (or reverting to, "Work it out, guys!"); no more Ubering; no more dishwashing coercion or lawn mowing supervision; no more imitations of a human ATM (though I hear this may continue from a distance…); no more hair braiding or governing screen time. And no more children in the house telling me they love me and want to live with me forever.
I turn for solace to writer Toni Morrison, who said grown means nothing to a mother. "A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown. In my heart it don't mean a thing."
A Maori proverb, Ko te whaea te takere o te waka, says "Mothers are like the hull of a canoe, they are the heart of the family."
To this, I'd add you don't have to have given birth to have mothered. To mums, aunties, teachers, mentors, friends - enjoy Mother's Day. Or call someone for whom this day is difficult - they might need a little mothering themselves.