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Nobody loves you like your mama

By RONDA RICH

I would never have expected it from him.

He’s what tough is. So tough that he could take a solid punch from a hefty guy, straight to the jaw and never flinch. He used to be a pro wrestler.

But when he talked about her, the toughness melted into spongy softness.

“Losing my dad wasn’t easy,” he admitted, pausing as a mist of tears clouded his gray eyes when he thought about her. “But it wasn’t anything like Mama’s death. Nothing prepares you for losing your mama. It’s the worse kind of loss. Nobody ever loves you like your mama loves you. I put flowers on her grave every week.”

I was visiting with Barbara Dooley one day, when she dropped onto the sofa in her den and began a conversation about her mama. She talked of the last months and how difficult they had been as her beloved mother slipped away from her.

Those days were made harder because sometimes as death creeps slowly toward its intended, it disguises itself in unrest with sharp words. There is no rest for the one who depart or the ones who will remain.

“It nearly killed me to lose my mama,” she said, shaking her head.

“Even after she’d been so tough on you that last year?”

She smiled sadly. “It doesn’t matter. You forget all that. You only remember the love and the good. You don’t recall anything bad. Next to losing a child, nothing could be worse than losing your mother.”

So, when a friend seeking counsel came to me, I remembered these conversations. She explained that someone had been intentionally unkind to her mother, hurting her deeply.

“She’s completely heartbroken. What should I do?” she asked.

“There’s only one thing you can do,” I replied firmly. “You rush to your mama’s defense as quickly and swiftly as she most certainly did when you were a small child and some bully pushed you off the see-saw on the playground. When you were young, she rescued you. Now it’s your turn to rescue her.”

There is an invisible dividing line in life that cannot be seen nor explained. It can only be felt instinctively, nudged by the sensitivity of one’s heart.

It is that particular moment in time when your parents, especially your mama, moves from being the protector to being the protected.

It is that time when we can no longer look to them to take care of us. It is a passage of life when the gauntlet is passed and the guard is changed. It is our time to become the loving caregiver.

Just as she pulled herself from her cozy bed for middle-of-the-night feedings, bandaged scraped knees, wiped tears and cheered you on to adult successes, it becomes your turn to see that her tears are wiped, her hurts are bandaged and that she is shielded from those who seek to cause her unhappiness.

And, just as you didn’t always make it easy for her, she won’t always make it easy for you. She’ll rebel. Just like you did. She’ll talk back. Just like you did. She’ll poke her lip out and pout. Just like you did. But, secretly, she will love you for what you do. Just like you did.

Happy Mother’s Day. If your mama is still on this earth, then it really is a happy day.