“I won’t grow up, I don’t want to wear a tie, or a serious expression in the middle of July…” The tune from the Peter Pan song drifts down the hallway, causing me to pause. With a smile, I quietly move to his bedroom door, where my son is engrossed in his Legos.
“What are you singing, my love?” I ask, peeking in.
His eyes widen in surprise. “MOM! You can’t hear it! It’s supposed to be a surprise!”
Feigning innocence, I respond, “Hear what? I didn’t hear anything. Did you?”
A broad smile lights up his 7-year-old face, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I know you’re joking, Mom.”
My Mother’s Day gifts typically include scrambled eggs topped with American cheese, a hanging plant, a new pair of running shoes, pink gardening gloves, a hike along the Wissahickon, and four handmade cards. Each card tells a story, one crafted with reluctance by my oldest son, featuring a simple drawing and a light-hearted joke. When he hands it to me, he leans in for a rare hug, a treasure in his tween years.
Another card, a colorful creation from my 10-year-old, illustrates me with a huge grin, freckled face, and a cape. He wraps me in a lingering hug, his fingers stained with marker ink.
The last two cards are thrust into my hands by my younger sons, aged 7 and 4, who climb into my lap and nestle against me. They smell of childhood, and as I glance down at their cards, my eyes well with tears. Each white piece of paper bears the simple yet profound words: “I LOVE YOU, MOM.”
It’s Thursday morning, just before 8 AM, and I sit among other kindergarten parents in the school chapel, filled with anticipation for our sons’ performance. I suspect the song I overheard last week will be featured, and a lump forms in my throat.
Conversations fade, parents straighten up, and phones are swiftly pulled out as our boys enter, donning an array of hats—from chef hats to fireman hats. My son doesn’t notice me at first, but I see his face light up when he catches my eye. I wave and blow a kiss, and the lump in my throat warns me before the first tear falls.
“I won’t grow up, I don’t want to go to school, just to learn to be a parrot and recite a silly rule.” I wipe my tears discreetly, feeling the weight of the moment.
As he sings, I reflect on how much he has grown in the past year. His enthusiasm for life shines through, yet I know that this joyful innocence will eventually wane, as I’ve seen with his older brothers.
“I won’t grow up, I don’t want to wear a tie, and a serious expression in the middle of July.” My tears flow for the magic of kindergarten, the pure joy of new friendships, and the excitement of learning. I also think of the mothers who face unimaginable loss.
I cry for those who won’t celebrate Mother’s Day with their children, like Kate, who faces her first such day without her son. I weep for the mothers whose children are no longer with them due to tragic events, and for those who must navigate life with the painful absence of their little ones.
This year, on Mother’s Day, I will savor every moment—my eggs, my flowers, my new shoes, and the love embodied in the cards from my children. I will cherish our family hike, complaints and all, and hold tightly to the knowledge that many mothers will not experience these simple joys this year.
In honor of all the mothers whose children will never grow up, I will embrace every second of my Mother’s Day, filled with love, peace, and healing.
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In summary, this Mother’s Day serves as a poignant reminder of both the joys and the heartaches of motherhood. It encourages us to cherish our moments with our children while acknowledging the struggles faced by others.
Keyphrase: Mother’s Day Reflections
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