A Tribute to My Mother, and All Mothers

When I was six, my mother gave birth to her seventh and final child, a baby boy. She was in the hospital for what seemed like an eternity, and my little heart, full of innocence and bursting with pure love, ached for her presence. I needed to know my mother was alright.

The days were long, especially when I was at school. I wanted to talk to my mother and tried to call the hospital from the payphone outside in the breezeway. Being shy of four feet tall, I was obviously too short to reach it, even on my tiptoes. As enterprising and determined children do, I found an ally who would help me: the school's beloved silver-haired secretary, Mrs. Marshine.

Peering over her desk, I explained my predicament. Could I call the hospital from her office? She said yes, so at recess and lunch period every day, I would march to the schools office, dutifully bringing my ten cents to pay for the call.

Mrs. Marshine didnt take my pennies, but every day for a week, she witnessed the simplest of acts, yet humanitys most powerful: the bond between a child and mother, an instinctual life force unlike any other.

As we celebrate Mothers Day across the country, I am reminded of the oft-cited words of refrain by the American poet William Ross Wallace, praising motherhood: The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world. This was published in 1865, over 150 years ago. The words are true today: Motherhood is completely and utterly eternal, transcending time.

Motherhood is also global and the name means the same, no matter which language it is uttered in. In Hindi, it is Ma. In Arabic, it is Ahm. In Swahili, it is Mama. In Spanish, it is Madre.

Cultural practices by matriarchs may vary; after all, we live in a global world. As for me, I was raised by a mother who was the daughter of German immigrants, but it did not matter which country she came from, because motherhood transcends culture, creed, and race.

The global population is now more than seven billion. Imagine the emotional geometry of all the mothers of those children, each with very personal circumstances surrounding their pregnancies. Think of the complexity of each mothers feelings, knowing that they are ultimately responsible for that one life and who that child becomes. Imagine the excitement, the fear, the worry, and perhaps even terror. There are countless other concerns nobody will never know.

The universality of motherhood extends to the animal kingdom, a testament to the power of the matriarchal bond. I am reminded of Blackfish, a hair-raising documentary that chronicles the life of killer whales in captivity. Its most moving yet disturbing scene is the chase of 90 orcas surrounded by speedboats and airplanes and bombarded with explosives and the subsequent capture of seven baby orcas, torn from their mothers. Desperate to escape, the calves frantic cries, squeals and shrills reverberated for miles. As the boats sped off with their catch, the helpless mothers sat wailing too, watching as their calves were taken away forever.

In another scene, a trainer described a young calf ripped away from its mother in order to take it to another water park. For weeks after, the mother sat motionless in a corner of the tank, wailing in a sound pattern the trainer had never heard. When this kind of loss happens to humans, we might call it despair, depression or grief.

Orca whales are the only species on the planet that stay with their mothers and immediate family for their entire life. Killer whales live in tight-knit families, large groups of pods, consisting of multiple related matrilines, often with three or more generations. Each pod has a head female; this matriarch is the oldest female in the group. She has wisdom and knowledge and guides the pod.

Sound familiar? We are mammals too.

Motherhood is undeniably universal, whether we are speaking of humans, sea dwellers or others. Most of the women I know are mothers at heart, whether they have children or not.

The essence of feminine energy is to nurture and love others, whether children, friends or even strangers. Our maternal instinct kicks in when we see humans suffering. We cannot bear it -- our heart bleeds, sometimes silently, when we see someone in pain. We cannot turn a blind eye to the distress we see. When we nourish others, we are nourished. Mother Teresa comes to mind, one of the worlds grandest mothers.

I cannot imagine how exhausting the constant self-sacrifice must be, but Im guessing a mothers basic instincts are impossible to ignore. We expect our mothers to be perfect and sometimes forget to see them as human too.

I have been blessed with an incredible mother; she is an inexhaustible well of giving. Does she mention the thousands of diapers changed, tears wiped, and carpools driven? My godmother, mother to seven, is the same. An inexhaustible well of wisdom, she has always offered endless support and listened to me without judgment. Gretchen, a neighbor who was always there too, let me steal chocolate chip cookies and did my homework with me. A teacher, I still remember she taught me what the word zenith meant. Countless matriarchs have been there for me.

Some of my friends have lost their mothers; this essay is to remember them too. I hope they are dancing in heaven.

The mothers I know look back and wonder what they did right, and what they could have done differently. I guess they must think that what they have done has never been enough. Once in a while my mother has shared the usually silent calculus and worry in her mind; I have seen her juggle, forecast and plan for contingencies.

Motherhood is defined by an emotional intelligence, perhaps honed by biology and evolution, to sense when others are in pain or danger. Mothers often see small clues that others miss, perceiving someones emotional state.

My mother put her children before all else. She has always been my best friend, and even now I jump for joy in her presence, just like I did as a first grader. I am eternally blessed.

The following essay is dedicated to all of the mothers in my life. First and foremost, my mother Elizabeth, whose inexhaustible supply of love has made me who I am today; Jeane, my godmother who has always been there no matter what; and Gretchen, who always provided a second home and made sure I won all the spelling bees.