the Village Knittiot

It wasn’t until I discovered some old pictures of my mother when she was my age that I suddenly realized how very much I am my mother’s daughter. People had always told me how much I looked like my father, and this was always rather disappointing to me. So when Dick sent me these old pictures of us, I was enthralled. Looking at her then was like looking at pictures of me now, and suddenly I saw her in everything I do. My smile. The way I hold my head. How I sometimes rest my hands on my hips when I’m standing still. And my hands that are exactly her hands.

When I was born, my mother named me Rachel because, like Rachel of the Old Testament who was so loved by Jacob that he worked for 14 years to gain her hand in marriage, I was loved. She always told me as I was growing up that it was a promise to me that I too would always be loved so greatly.

Three years later my father left. The next year my mother lost her mother. And shortly therafter, her father too. And then it was just me and mom against the world.

In a lot of ways, we grew up together. Sometimes it was fun, because my mother definitely knows how to have fun. And other times it was the exact opposite of fun, and I know a lot about the exact opposite of fun. But we made it through. I have so many, many memories of her. But mostly, I just remember that she loved me. And as she is fond of saying, “Love covers a multitude of sins.”

My mom is not so great at giving herself credit for all the good things she does. This is something that I inherited from her. And sometimes we are both pretty hard on ourselves and on each other. When Mr. Knittiot became the third member of our tiny little family, he reminded us that we were deserving of a little kindness and compassion. Now I try to tell her all the time how wonderful she is, and you know what? I think we’re starting to get it. We have entire phone conversations now about how wonderful we are. And then we laugh and laugh and laugh. It took us a long time to learn to laugh together, and everytime we do, it feels like such a gift.

My mother is strong and kind and she never ever stops trying. She isn’t afraid to admit when she is wrong and she never hesitates to apologize. She is generous and when she loves you, it never stops. And there is something so comforting about that. I know that my mother will never leave, never give up on me, and never stop surprising me. I know what it means to be loved, because my mother has always loved me in the best ways she could. I know not everyone is given that, and I don’t take it for granted, ever.

When I was a little kid, one Mother’s Day, the McDonalds by our house announced that all mothers would be treated to a free breakfast that day. I thought this was just about the coolest thing ever, because, you know, I was seven and free McDonalds was like Christmas. So I decided to surprise my mom by taking her out for breakfast on Mother’s Day.

I asked Mary, a friend of mom’s who lived in our apartment building, if she would drive us there. She immediately agreed. Then I made a special Mother’s Day sign and hung it up in the living room by taping it to my mother’s macrame and driftwood wall hanging. Then I snuck into her room and unplugged the phone by her bed. At 8:00 a.m. Mary called our apartment. My mother is not a morning person. The phone rang and rang and rang. Finally I heard her try to answer the phone by her bed, but since I had cleverly unplugged it, she had to come rushing out of her room to answer the phone in the kitchen. I yelled, “Surprise! Happy Mother’s Day!” She was surprised, and still a little unawake, I think. But also pleased. She got dressed and Mary drove us to McDonald’s. I don’t remember if I had saved up my money and bought breakfast for myself and her friend. Or maybe my mom bought it. That very well could have happened too.

Now that we are living half a country away from each other, cooking up surprises like that isn’t as easy as free McDonalds. And of course, there is the fact that neither of us eats McDonalds anymore… Even so, mom, I miss you. I love you. And I hope you are having a wonderful Mother’s Day.

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 8th, 2005 at 8:48 am and is filed under this Random Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.