May is for Mothers

And mothers may weep from all the change even though it is good.

I drove up to get our oldest from his first year at college. He had a picture-perfect first year, with the many ups and downs of a young man trying on adulthood, practicing decision-making, including the kind that means selecting lesser evils. Ah, the loss of the simplicity of youth. Yet, it was full and complete and included accolades and a romantic partner.

I don’t know the original reasons why May became a month associated with Mothers and Mary, and I am too tired to do the research required right now. My body is exhausted from driving, moving, and grieving the loss of mothering a child. I have heard the trite phrase that he will always be my child. Indeed, that may be true- at least in the memories we oldsters choose to retain, but he is no longer a child. I am grateful for that, and it is how it should be. But I am also a little sad, and I think of mothers everywhere and understand why paintings never show the Virgin Mary smiling. The standard response is that Mary’s sad appearance foreshadows his passion and death; however, she knows from the beginning that he is the son of God. She knows he will redeem us. That is joyful. I think the artists knew she had lost her son; she could not mother a man who was not a child.

To all mothers weeping for the loss of (mothering) a child or for joyful happenings in the month of May, I see you.