Nearly six years.
There are days when I still pick up the phone and dial the first six or eight digits of her phone number before I stop and hang up the handset.
And, although people said it would, I’m still waiting for it to get easier.
My mother wasn’t supposed to have me.
I wasn’t supposed to be possible.
She was forty-seven. – No spring’s chick.
She had actually gone to the doctor to have it confirmed she was in menopause. Instead she got the news that she was pregnant.
She smacked the doctor in the face and went back to work. “Funny joke.” She probably thought.
But they called her back to his office.
They told her horrible things.
I would be born with major birth defects. I would be disabled. I would be a burden forever.
It was years before ultra sound technology would come to my hometown. Most of the tests for birth defects hadn’t even been thought of, let alone incorporated.
She knew the odds weren’t in her favour. But like most things my mother did, she faced them head on with her eyes wide open.
They admitted her to the hospital because she was six feet tall and wearing a size seven and not gaining weight. They fed her steak and eggs and when she still failed to pack on the pounds she insisted she go home because her own cooking was better.
She must have been in excruciating pain for the majority of her pregnancy because I was only a few days old and she was whisked away to St. John’s to have a cyst the size of a grapefruit taken off of her kidney.
I don’t know what made her believe I would be fine. I’ll never have the chance to ask her if she was scared. I only know that I was born because my mother was determined that I would be.
She had faith I would be born whole, without birth defects or chromosomal abnormalities. And if her faith wasn’t enough; she would find the strength to deal with it.
Somewhere buried inside of my mother was a core of tempered steel. Unwavering. Unyielding.
There are days I know she passed that on to me.
Every time I think I can’t do this. Every time I can’t face Kate’s disability or one more night feeding, or a rambunctious eight-year-old I channel a little of her strength. I hear her voice telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself and get on with it.
We didn’t see everything eye to eye. I’m sure I disappointed her more than once and Lord knows she could infuriate me like no one else.
But I’d give anything in this world for five more minutes with her.
For all of you who still have your mothers - always remember that she was the one person who loved you enough to give you life and you changed hers forever. And know that there will be a time when you would give all you have for just five more minutes.
Happy Mother’s Day Mom, wherever you are.
I love you.
