In Celebration of All Mothers

On this, the day of marking all the sacrifices our mothers have made for us, my mother, my step-father and I took my 95-year-old grandmother to the Oregon Coast. It was the first time my grandmother had ventured to the land of sea and sand in at least 10 years. We drove through Lincoln City before venturing inland, toward the almost-non-existent town of Siletz, where my grandmother once lived with my grandfather and my uncle Lynn and aunt Joanie before I was even born.

After many miles and shared memories, we returned to Lincoln City for an early dinner. Thanks to my mother’s finagling, we managed to get a seat right next to the windows overlooking the ocean, where my grandmother watched the waves come in, the birds dance upon the winds and the families fly kites.

Her joy in the day was simple and pure and glorious.

It reminded me that — when we reach a certain age — we come full circle, seeing the world as we once did in our first years on earth: With wonder and awe and joy. It’s only in the intervening years that we screw things up: We lean into fear and drama; we see trouble and tribulation where there is none; we play life small, shying from what might come if we try to move mountains.

It reminded me once more that the small things really are the big things. And I need to appreciate every little bit of beauty around me.

Of course, when I got home, I was greeted by my menagerie of beasts, who were simultaneously happy to see me return and upset that I had left them alone for the better part of a day. I decided to take it as a Happy Mother’s Day to me.

See, there are those who are meant to be mothers — women who would sacrifice everything for a mini-me. I was never one of them. I knew from a young age — when I preferred to dump my dolls in a backpack, naked and ignored — that I was not really what you would call a nurturing or coddling sort. I’m still not. And I have little patience for youngsters (except in small doses or if they are my nephews … and that’s only as long as my nephews don’t talk endlessly about Minecraft or Mario Bros.).

But somehow, I see animals differently. While I won’t say I have an endless well of understanding for them, I do have more patience for them than I ever have for children.

Besides, they are always a great reminder that I need to stop and appreciate the small things. That there is wonder and awe and joy in everything around us. And that there is nothing so serious in life that can’t be solved with a little snuggle, a little sleep and a lot of love.