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Friend, hero, confidant: Mom deserves thanks, more on her birthday

MARQUETTE – When I think about my childhood, it’s mostly a blur. But it’s my mother who stands out the most.

Relationships with our parents are always complicated. I don’t see eye to eye with my mom on a number of things, but her role in my life has been unambiguously, overwhelmingly and immeasurably fundamental to everything I am.

I thank God for her every day.

When I think of my mom, the first thing that comes to mind is her voice, so often singing or reciting a rhyme. Her love of poetry, music, children and animals, the special attention and encouragement she lavished on us, her constant and under-appreciated labor – these are things I didn’t understand until I grew up and realized how lucky I was.

One of my earliest memories for some reason is of sitting on her lap, looking out the window at the woods behind our house, just absently playing with her fingers – so much bigger than mine, so grown-up and ideal, holding an endless amount of patience for all our messy shenanigans.

She taught me how to cook and use a sewing machine, she encouraged my art, music and love of theater and performance.

She showed me I was special, that I mattered, and she always listened to all my ideas and problems.

Her love of poetry and books was the model on which I based my own appetite for literature, which has probably been the single biggest comfort in my life.

My mom is tough and often stubborn – a fierce advocate, who has lost so much in her life, yet always has so much more to give.

She is a genuine soul-searcher and seeker of truth. Her spirituality was – unbeknownst to me at the time – a foundation from which I learned to search for myself, to never stop seeking, praying, questioning and growing.

But the greatest gift she gave me was one of adventure. My mother’s love of the north, of lakes and trees and camping in the dirt, of straying from the beaten path to find the hidden magic that others overlook – those are my favorite memories.

We went camping practically every summer, all summer. There was little she valued more than taking us into the wild to swim, ride bikes, find waterfalls, catch snakes and frogs and minnows, learn and draw connections, and most importantly, have as much fun as we possibly could.

My mom was a “housewife,” a stay-at-home mom, and she was sensitive to the criticism that women should all pursue careers – that that was somehow superior.

But the truth is, so-called women’s work – raising children and running the household, cooking healthy meals, gardening, doing laundry, helping with homework, facilitating and nurturing and being there – this is real, critical labor, without which society cannot function.

The fact that our traditional economic system fails to recognize the incalculable value of that work is outrageous.

As a culture, we have so much further to go to honor the lives and dignity of women of all stripes.

But when I consider how blessed I am, I also think about my dad, one of the hardest working and resourceful people I’ve ever met – who never let us down in the face of countless crises, uncertainties and challenges.

He can fix anything. He taught us to fish, build fires and work hard, and hikes with my dad took us off the beaten path every time; he always seemed to know where he was going.

We didn’t have a lot of money. In fact – even though as a kid, I was pretty unaware – our struggle against poverty was the main threat to our peace and unity.

I remember staying up after my parents thought I was asleep, sitting on the top of the stairs, terrified by the arguments I overheard, terrified at the prospect my family could dissolve.

But my parents muddled through, always retaining their pride and dignity, always finding ways to make it work, always putting us first.

Conditions for working families have deteriorated, and I am so deeply saddened – because what is life really about, if not these moments with each other?

My parents are my heroes. Without their sacrifice, I would be nothing.

Last week, my mom celebrated her birthday. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to spend it with her, because of the lovely April snow storms we’ve been having. But I am so proud of her; I owe her more than I can even know.

Thank you, Mom, for all the sacrifices you made, all the tears and struggles and courage, all of your uncompensated hours of labor, and for making my childhood so magical.

Nobody is perfect, but love is our greatest gift. May all mothers, fathers, children and members of the human family continue to love in the face of pain and hardship.

May we stand together and honor each other in all things.

My mom taught me just how invaluable that is.

Editor’s note: Mary Wardell can be reached at 906-228-2500, ext. 248.

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