Today is Mother’s Day. At least for another 118 minutes here on the West Coast. I’m spending Mother’s Day this year in Bremerton, Washington, with my husband and son-in-law. We had coffee at a nice little cafe, then lunch at an Indian restaurant. When I couldn’t get a contact lens out of my eye I asked them to drop me off at an urgent care (where I was able to remove it), then took a short nap while the guys explored the area. Later I enjoyed a margarita and queso dip with chips while the boys ate good Mexican food in downtown Bremerton. Good margarita too.
But I’m not here to eat food or sightsee. Not here to shoot the shit about life in the military. My son in law, the husband of my youngest daughter and father to Sophie, faces the fight of his life in two days. Alex and I are here to support him, to go through this with him, to love him and let him know we are here for him.
Mother’s Day. In Britain it’s called Mothering Sunday. And mothering is a bigger calling than nurturing our own children. It’s about recognizing those who need nurturing and support. Filling in for mothers who cannot be there even though every fiber of their beings ache to be. I’m here for Ben’s mom today. Because she cannot be.
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