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Nobody Loves us like our Mothers

Recently, a friend shared her grief while mourning her 90-year-old mother’s death. “After all,” she said, “I knew this was going to happen and I visited her every time I could. So why do I feel so lost and upset?”

“Nobody loves us like our mothers. Nobody,” I said. When our #1 cheerleader isn’t here to encourage and praise and help us keep our rudders straight, it takes time learn to live without her. Even when our own children are adults and we are over fifty years old, we miss Mom.

My friend and I agreed we are fortunate to have been raised by mothers who loved us and we will never forget them. My mom passed away in 1991, and rarely does a day go by that I don’t think of her.

It’s a comfort to use Mom’s things. Like a metal measuring cup. It sits on my cabinet shelf beside a shiny, newer measuring cup, but Mom’s has indentions that are easy to see for measuring ¼ and ½ and ¾ cup. And I often wonder how many twenty-five-pound bags of Martha White self-rising flour Mom measured to make biscuits.

I learned to make cornbread with Mom standing beside me. To this day, I never consider cornbread making finished then until the mixing bowl is washed, dried, and put back in the cabinet. Mom said if the cornbread batter is left in a bowl, it quickly becomes stiff and sticks to the bowl, but it slides right off when the bowl is immediately washed.

As I child, I grumbled about setting the table. My family ate almost all meals at home and I had to set the table with placemats, plates, knives, forks, spoons, and a paper napkin. Many years later, I lived with Mom and Dad for two months before Husband’s and my wedding, and Mom told me, “Set the table and your family knows a meal will be served.” The food could be leftovers, a sandwich, or a home cooked meat-and-three meal. No matter, set the table. I still think of Mom when I put plates and silverware on our dining table.

And Mom unknowingly gave me advice for raising teen-agers. I was an 18-year old college student when I did something dangerously stupid and later told Mom how scared I had been. I’d made a mistake and probably felt confessing would ease my guilt. After a discussion about what I had learned, Mom told me, “If you know I’m not going to like it and it’s already happened and you’re safe, don’t tell me.” She stressed I should still talk to her and tell her about experiences., just don’t tell her things that had already happened and she’d worry about. I learned mothers don’t need to know everything.

Mother’s Day, a day children appreciate their mothers’ unique love and the lessons mothers taught us. Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers.


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