Today, I am lucky. The two most important females in my life are here with me for Mother’s Day. My mother, still sleeping. My daughter, perched besides me as I write this.
I’ll never forget what my mother said as she held my daughter in her arms for the first time; “Lisa, it’s like holding you again!”
Watching my mother, and my mother-in-law Ann (God rest her soul), gaze at their granddaughter was always a delight. I’d never seen such absolute joy on any one’s face. Free from the day to day worry of taking care of this particular baby, their love flowed, unrestrained.
In my daughter was the love they held for their own babies, multiplied ten thousand times.
No love is perfect. Not even a mother’s love, or a grandmother’s. Mistakes are made. Patterns, repeated. But what my mother and my mother-in-law, and my own experience of motherhood has taught me is this: a mother’s love is a continuum. It endures. It learns something new from each mistake, from each generation, and it evolves. It grows and grows, and is passed forward with each new baby.
A mother knows her love is not perfect but she never loses hope, never stops trying, that she will one day get it right.