BEING A MOTHER...

 (both men & women & sons & daughters - need to read this)

After 17 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to

take another woman out to dinner and a movie. She

said, 'I love you, but I know this other woman loves

you and would love to spend some time with you.'

* * *

The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit

was my MOTHER, who has been alone for 20 years,

but the demands of my work and my two boys had

made it possible to visit her only occasionally.

* * *

That night I called to invite her to go out for

dinner and a movie.

* * *

'What's wrong, aren't you well?', she asked.

* * *

My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a

late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign

of bad news.

* * *

'I thought it would be pleasant to spend some

time with you,' I responded. 'Just the two of us.'

She thought about it for a moment, and then said,

'I would like that very much.'

* * *

That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick

her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her

house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous

about our date. She waited in the door. She had curled her hair and was wearing the 

dress

that she had worn to celebrate her last

birthday on November 19th...

* * *

She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an

angel's. 'I told my friends that I was going to go

out with my son, and they were impressed,' she said,

as she got into that new white van. 'They can't wait to hear about our date'...

* * *

We went to a restaurant that, although not

elegant, was very nice and cozy. My mother took my

arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat

down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only

read large print. Half way through the entries, I

lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at

me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips. 'It was I

who used to have to read the menu when you were

small,' she said. 'Then it's time that you relax and

let me return the favor,' I responded.

* * *

During the dinner, we had an agreeable

conversation--nothing extraordinary but catching up

on recent events of each other's life. We talked so

much that we missed the movie.

* * *

As we arrived at her house later, she said, 'I'll 

go out with you again, but only if you let me invite

you.' I agreed.

* * *

'How was your dinner date?', asked my wife when I

got home.

'Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined,'

I answered.

* * *

A few days later, my mother died of a massive

heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn't

have a chance to do anything for her.

* * *

Some time later, I received an envelope with a

copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place

mother and I had dined. An attached note said: 'I

paid this bill in advance. I wasn't sure that I

could be there; but nevertheless, I paid for two

plates - one for you and the other for your wife.

You will never know what that night meant for me. I

love you, son.'

* * *

At that moment, I understood the importance of

saying in time: 'I LOVE YOU' and to give our loved

ones the time that they deserve. Nothing in life is

more important than your family. Give them the time

they deserve, because these things cannot be put off

till 'some other time.'

* * *

Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back

to normal after you've had a baby... Somebody

doesn't know that once you're a mother,

'normal' is history.

* * *

Somebody said you learn how to be a mother by

instinct. Somebody never took a three-year-old shopping.

* * *

Somebody said being a mother is boring ...

Somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver's permit.

* * *

Somebody said if you're a'good' mother,

your child will 'turn out good'...

Somebody thinks a child comes with

directions and a guarantee.

* * *

Somebody said you don't need an education to be a

mother... Somebody never helped a fourth grader

with his math.

* * *

Somebody said you can't love the second child as

much as you love the first ... somebody doesn't

have two children.

* * *

Somebody said the hardest part of being a mother

is labor and delivery...

Somebody never watched her 'baby' get on the bus

for the first day of kindergarten.

or on a plane headed for military 'boot camp.'

* * *

Somebody said a mother can stop worrying aft er her

child gets married...Somebody doesn't know that

marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to a

mother's heartstrings.

* * *

Somebody said a mother's job is done when her last

child leaves home...Somebody never had

grandchildren.

* * *

Somebody said your mother knows you love her, so

you don't need to tell her... Somebody isn't a

mother.

* * *

This isn't 

just about being a mother;

it's about appreciating

the people in your life while you have them...

no 

matter who that person is,

A Letter to a Man I Wish I Knew

By Tami C Ryan
Sunday, November 30, 2003



Please forgive me for posting this unedited. I had to post it before I lost my nerve. (Thanks, Jerry...) Also, please forgive that my date is off by one day. I decided that after twenty-nine years, one day wouldn't make a difference. ~Tami

Dear Cherub,

(It’s taken me twenty-nine years to write to you… It’s ironic that I should write this letter to you today.)

December 1, 1974: I was seventeen; young, spirited, and in love. Your biological father was a very handsome man, and I was the envy of many women. For a while. When I told him I was pregnant with you, he skipped town – with his former girlfriend. I’m no longer angry with him, because I know that, like me, he was scared.

Of course, I lived at home with my parents at the time, and they told me I was not permitted to bring a baby home to their house. At my tender age, I had too few skills and knew I couldn’t provide the kind of life I wanted for you, especially without the support of those around me. I imagined a life on welfare and years of simply “getting by”. I wanted so much more for you. I also knew there were so many couples who were unable to have children and would be able to provide a good life for you – you deserved that, and more.

At the time of your birth, I was absolutely alone, save the doctor who delivered you and all other white-garbed medical personnel. I had never felt so scared and alone as I did that night. It was discussed and arranged prior to that time that, after your delivery, I wouldn’t see you and hold you… I was too afraid that if I did so, I’d change my mind – and I knew in my heart that the decision I had already made to allow a couple to adopt you would ultimately be the best for you.

The day following your birth, I couldn’t bear the pain, and I asked to see you, to hold you, if only for a few moments – I had to. I was denied. I demanded to see the nurse in charge and was still denied. But I was never a quitter, and this would be no exception; I wasn’t going to give up. I was eventually allowed to see you and hold you, if only briefly. I can still remember your face, and I remember thinking that you looked like an angel. I’ll never forget how precious those moments were; nothing can ever possibly take that away from me. After the nurse took you, I cried for hours… nay – days, weeks, months… (And the tears are flowing as much at this moment as they were then.)

The following day (as was the “rule” at the time), you were handed to me and, then, I was required to hand you to the attorney for the adopting couple. Supposedly, that was an official gesture of my “giving” you to that couple. I suspect it is more symbolic than anything else. How hard that was to do! I had a ninety-day period of time in which to reconsider; after that time, I signed the final papers. My hands trembled when I signed those papers, but, still, I knew I was doing the right thing – for you.

For so many years, not a day went by without thoughts of you. I read about the developmental stages of babies and wondered if you were walking and talking. I wondered what you looked like, and I wondered if you had what you needed. But more than anything, I always, always wondered if you were loved.

I’ve wondered what your name is. As you’ve gotten older, I’ve wondered if you’re doing well in your endeavors and what you might be doing as a profession. I wonder if you’re married now, and I often wonder if you might have children of your own. Today, I pray you’re happy.

In 1977, I was married and, in the subsequent years, we tried to achieve pregnancy, without success. I cried many tears, believing that Creation was punishing me. After several years of medication and surgery, surgery and medication, I became pregnant. (My friends used to tell me that I glowed throughout my pregnancy. I knew I did, as I was ecstatic about being pregnant and excited about being a mother. ) On March 10, 1982, I gave birth to a son. His name is Mitchell, and we are especially close. (I can barely type through the tears…) We have always been able to talk about anything and everything. He knows about you, but I don’t think he knows how emotionally painful it has been without you. Although Mitchell’s life has been far from perfect, I have loved him hard – and as fully as I know how.

I have so much to share with you, and I hope that one day you’ll want to know about me too. I’ve tried to find out about you, but this state has a closed adoption policy, so I’m not able to learn anything about you. Perhaps one day you’ll try to find me. If so, I’ll embrace the opportunity. Meanwhile, be well. Be happy.

Perhaps one day you’ll be able to understand. And, perhaps one day, you’ll be able to forgive me, knowing that I did it because I loved you. Then… and Now.