Two years later when I gave birth to my first child, my friend's words begin to take on more meaning. I found what it was like to be called on at two o'clock in the morning when I was so sleepy I literally staggered into the baby's room, because his pitiful cries summoned me to produce the fluid he so desperately needed at that moment. No putting it off and going back to sleep. No calling on someone else to do it for me. No one else was available to perform the task. It fell on me, sleepy or not, sick or not, want to or not. I had entered the world of motherhood, and at last it dawned on me just how much my own mother had endured, not only to give birth to me, but to also sacrifice her own comfort and well being so that I could have what I needed.
It pains me now to consider just how unappreciative I was of her over the years. Young and immature, selfish and self centered, just like so many teenagers, the foremost thing in my life was having what I wanted. Looking back, I don't believe she ever chided me for that, or ever resented it, to my knowledge. She did what all good mothers do and tried to get it for me.
When I was happy and things were going my way, she smiled and enjoyed it too. When I became a teenager and started to correspond with the boys, I would always hand my letters to her and let her read them. Once I had received a letter from a boy, and when she expressed interest in what it said, I snapped at her. She didn't always have to read my mail. She turned away with a hurt look and said nothing. I felt remorseful and took the letter and handed it to her, telling her to read it, and she just shook her head no. Remorseful and sad for my actions, I turned and walked out the door to take a little walk and think things over. In about twenty minutes I returned to find her laying across my bed reading my letter. She looked up with a shy little grin, just like the bird that caught the canary. We just smiled at each other without saying a word. There was no need. We knew exactly what the other person was thinking.
I also knew she never went totally asleep until all her children were home and accounted for. That fact seemed to totally escape my brothers. They never saw the need to account for their whereabouts. If they knew they were alright, they expected her to know that also. It never occurred to them she might worry. Once when my brother and I were talking, I made that statement to him. He looked at me in total disbelief. He loved her more than he loved anyone else on earth. He just never considered the fact his actions might be a cause of great concern and worry to her.
Females are different. I know that fact is not going to surprise the majority of you, but it applies in so many other ways than just the differences in anatomy. Males and females exist on entirely different planes when it comes to feelings and expressing those feelings, thinking, ways of doing the same thing, and so on and so forth.
The Apostle Paul told first century Christian men to love their wives as their own bodies. It's interesting he did not say the same thing to the wives. They were instructed to show honor to their husbands. Paul knew that a woman by nature would love, whereas a man had to be instructed to do that lest he forget. I'm not saying that a man can not love and cherish his wife and children, but by nature a woman seems to be equipped for the enormous task of motherhood.
As the years passed she grew old, and eventually became totally dependent on her children. It fell to me and my wonderful sister in laws to care for her in very much the same way she had cared for us. Giving baths and changing diapers, the once cared for became the care givers. Maybe, just maybe, we were able to return in small portion some of the self sacrificing love she had extended so unselfishly to her family.
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