Mother’s Friendship

— La'NE'

Friendship—the basis of friendship is delight in fellowship and an unconscious sharing of life’s experiences without thought of personal advantage.  How can I better define the relationship between people than did my Pastor when describing how it feels to have worked with a staff member for 27 years and now wishing her a happy retirement?

Sometimes slow to grow, friendships can blossom instantly.  They can last a lifetime, while others have a season, and there are those relationships joyfully revived after a long absence—almost as though time never passed.

As a little girl, my grandmother was that best friend to me.  You will often hear me liken her kindness and gentle ways—even when reminding me that my mom’s rules were to be honored—to the love of Jesus.  When I reflect upon those young years, I realize that my grandmother’s expectations of how her daughter should be treated were what would melt and mold the relationship between my mother and me.

Often I’d wonder that my mom and I, as alike as we were, would be inseparable in life. There were many seasons during which we shared the kind of mother-daughter relationship that a girl dreams of having.  Like many families, too, ours had its share of drama with someone always in need of being first.  Life’s challenges would eventually split our family, although for my mom it was the freedom she deserved to become that woman I remember—the woman with a laugh you’d always remember; that twinkle of a smile that lit up a room; the best jitterbug dancer I’d ever seen; those beautiful fingers that expertly played the piano; the mom who loved the house filled with sounds of chatter and laughter.

While there would be many times I’d find myself wondering why my relationship with my mom was so different from the ones she shared with my sister, I’d remember those very young years when I’d say, “My momma loves me best.”   I don’t know that our mother loved me best, though she did love me differently.   Sassing or lying was sure to buy me time out, although I didn’t always  get a pass from a switching.

My mom was very young when I buried her.  I was very young as well and have often missed that we never got to have a more mature mother-daughter friendship, especially when I remember those special seasons we shared — just my mother and me:  cooking our favorite suppers; shopping for all the fix’ns for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners; the excitement having my hair cut like Doris Day; the relief not having to wear glasses; tutoring for spelling bees and history tests; nighttime prayers; Saturday spa mornings; Maas Bros cosmetic counter; the hardships that come with being a single parent.

There was a time when I idolized my mom—the one I most wanted to be like—which is probably why we bumped heads as much as we did.  After all, we aren’t to idolize anyone or anything.  We are called to love one another—through all kinds of seasons.  That’s my momma, always with us and for us.

There are many of us whose mothers have been carried home, many sons and daughters who’ve preceded their moms, and yet they are as close as their memories.

Celebrate each other—moms, moms of mom, and mothers of many.  This is your legacy.