I do not know what it is like to be a mother. I am not sure if I ever want to. But I know that I could never be who I am if it was not for the mothers before me. My mother’s mother was one of the toughest and most prickly people you could even encounter. However, she loved her children and her grandkids more than anything. She may not have been sweet but she made sweet treats. She may not have always been prim and proper but she told you the truth and always stood up for herself. Her life was rough but through it all she found love and gave love and that is what truly mattered.

My father’s mother was a powerful little Italian woman who always made it known when she walked into a room and it was definitely silent when she was gone. Her voice was strong and sensitive when needed. She raised four boys and somehow survived! She taught her sons, especially my father, how to treat a woman the right way and how to respect others. She was a true pearl and cherished by everyone she met.

My grandmothers were just little girls with a lot more wrinkles. Except with a louder and more vulgar voices. You could tell we were related instantly.

My mother, on the other hand, is a lot different than that. She is definitely stronger than anyone I know but she encompasses an empathetic way of dealing with others and rarely do you see her yell. And when you do, you tend to laugh because she is just such a sincere soul that you know she does not have a single hatred bone in her entire body. She is amazingly passionate and dedicated to helping others. There has not been a day that she is not performing a selfless act for someone else. She is artistically inclined to create beauty in all her affairs which I wish she shared with the world more. She may not be immortal because no one is, but she has tackled some serious illness and persevered.  My brother once told me that Blackmires always persevere and that is just what she does.

One thing that makes my mother stand out that I cannot fully understand yet myself because I am not as wise as this wonder woman is her ability to love unconditionally.  She has loved me in spite of me at times. She has been upset with me and I have fought with her for days and nights. I have had her worried from more than time to time. But still through it all no one loves me the way my mother does with all my quirky antics.

Nancy Friday said, “When I stopped seeing my mother through the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me give birth to myself.” I have suddenly spurred the idea that maybe my mom is not just a mom. Weird concept right? Maybe she is a woman who was a girl and had the same kind of uncomfortable feelings growing up or maybe felt lost at times. Maybe she had a struggle growing up and experienced situations I could not imagine. Just like she could not understand what I was going through. Maybe this woman who gave birth to me was just a human, just another woman who has real life experiences and is doing the best she can for herself, her husband, and her kids. Maybe that is why she is a phenomenal female. She endures pain and gets through it. She is strong but does not boast about it. She does not throw her problems in people’s faces and beg for sympathy. She does what she always does because that is what real courage being a woman is. I used to get angry when people said I looked like her. No one ever wants to look like their mom. But to be honest, it is one of the best compliments anyone could convey. I wish I could be more like my mom. I have a lot of my grandmothers’ blood in me which is why it is a bit harder to have my mother’s more delicate grace and compassion. However I can try and be grateful to have witnessed a living legend. A nurse for over forty years and a wife for over forty years and now a mother for over thirty years. And she still laughs like a little girl. Now that is beautiful. And no matter what age, no matter how many miles I am away from her, I will always need and love my mother.

Happy Mother’s Day Mo!

-Noel Blackmire