Every time Mother’s Day rolls around, I am glad to have a mother I can reflect upon with fond memories and genuine respect. I realize that many have not been equally blessed. All great mothers have the obvious things in common: they love us unconditionally, they would sacrifice anything for us, they gave us life, etc. And while those things are definitely the most paramount (and by no means small potatoes), they are not particularly unique.
The things that make my mom uniquely mine are (in no particular order): her color-coded and seasonally organized closet, her attention to detail and hyper-organization, her ability to remember and celebrate all holidays and special occasions with some thoughtful gesture, and her ability to see potential and promise in everyone. She is consummately classic and feminine, a veritable picture torn from the pages of Ann Taylor. But she’s never shied away from getting dirt under her fingernails. The woman is a workhorse, for lack of a better word. In fact, as I was working in the yard yesterday, I was thinking to myself. My mom taught me how to do this. And lo and behold, within minutes, she was there at my side, instructing Taylor in the art of weeding. I’ve tormented her for being a cheerleader, but she is a warrior. She has met and overcome challenges and circumstances that many will never know. I’ve chided her clothing choices, her haircuts, and makeup techniques. But that’s simply because I’m her daughter, and I’m trying to compensate for the fact that she is continuously mistaken for my sister! I’ve mocked the way she talks to everyone like a first grader, but there’s no doubt it’s effective. Once Dooner teaches you something, you don’t forget it. A vast majority of Provo students will admit that her long-division dance is still embedded in their brains.
The mother-daughter relationship is a delicate and complex intricacy. But ultimately, in spite of and because of it all, my mother is my beautiful hero. I continuously fail at acknowledging or expressing it, but it is bespoken in everything I do and everything I am. And so I join with the hallowed words of Abraham Lincoln, “All that I am or hope to become I owe to my angel mother.”
