Editor's note: The below-given piece is a repost of sorts, not because I've ran out of ideas to write about, but rather because my mother turned 52 at midnight. For 30 years, I haven't hidden the fact that I have supreme regard for my mother from the world. If there is a person on the planet who has alternately managed to be there whenever needed (...and without question) while also being hands-off enough to let me choose my own path, it's the lady who almost died with me in a Stephens Co. delivery room some 30 years and two months ago. I am, without shame, a "momma's boy" through and through; she deserves no less, in my view. Happy birthday, momma. I might even let you read the things I have to say about you this weekend.
Originally posted Sunday, May 10, 2009 on Facebook as a Mother's Day reflection entitled "Tribute to Mom"
Because I don't think she could turn on a computer, I doubt my mother will ever read these words, but I'm going to type them anyway. It's Mother's Day, after all, and as sometimes happens when I find myself staying awake at night, my thoughts turn into words which then become public view, and ten paragraphs later I wrap it up as nicely as I can before closing out of the browser, shutting down the computer, and shutting my eyes.
Long story short tonight, Sheffield loves his mother. You can read the rest if you like, but that's pretty much the main idea of the piece that I'm bringing to you this evening.
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I've never really told the story on this, but from what I've been told (and it doesn't get discussed much in the family meals, for obvious reasons), the night I was born, we both almost died. I had the cord wrapped around my neck a few times and came out blue, and she had some problems post-birth in introducing me to the cold hands of some doctor at Stephens County Hospital in Toccoa, Georgia, but we managed to both make it out of that experience with minimal damage done to the relationship. She doesn't begrudge me for making her life difficult from the beginning and I only slightly hold it against her that her mis-diagnosis of my wrist that my buddy Keith snapped like a twig in middle school -- despite the fact that I literally pushed the bones together before walking into the living room to announce my arm had been broken, she managed to convince me it was only a sprain until Baron Mullis broke my right hand two weeks later in an ill-fated game of Battleball -- led to me having almost no range of motion in my right arm below the elbow.
All in all, my mom has been pretty remarkable to me and my family over the years, even in times when we didn't really deserve it. I can still remember some of the punk things I did as a boy in taking advantage of her love. It never stopped her, though. That woman loved me regardless, without condition or expectation. I hope to one day have proven myself worthy of all the love she's given me.
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Without going into too many personal details tonight, I think she's one of a select few that have stood by me through literally every decision I've ever made in the time knowing her, and that goes all the way back to the year I played linebacker (for one play a game, at least, not to mention a bunch of practices where guys twice my size would kick the crap out of me and laugh their way back to the huddle, looking back over their pads to make sure I was still alive) for my elementary school football team. She's always had my back. When I moved to Atlanta to teach in the inner city, several people close to me worried for me and told me not to do it -- and I'm disregarding the fact that they turned out to be "right" -- she supported me and prayed for me through it all. The night my best friend died in a car accident at 19, it was her voice on the other line calling to tell me that she was coming, and it was her who held me close while I screamed and cried like any teenager would do when confronted by the death of a loved one for the first time. When I would come home from college after blowing most of my money earned on the rinky-dink jobs college students hold to pay for Friday and Saturday night, she was the one stuffing hundred dollar bills in my bookbag and making sure I didn't see the cash until Tuesday.
And she was the one who, every time things have unraveled in the rapids of life that we all have to fight our way through from time to time, has always made it a point to call me every day, without fail, even if only to say a tired "I love you" before telling me she'd had a long day and needed to go to bed.
And she's the one I vent to when I've had a long day at the job she doesn't quite understand, but somehow manages to brag about to her friends at the hospital all the same.
We didn't have a lot when I was growing up, but one thing I never had to want was love. She and my father proved it time and time again, whether through her sacrifice in working three jobs at times to make sure we had food on the table and clothes on our backs, the day she realized a dream that furthered the entire family by walking through the door in tears, announcing that she'd passed her nursing boards that somehow never took a night's meal away from us (two years of schooling), or even in the aftermath of our house fire when I was an adolescent, which took everything we owned except for my baseball cards and my Nintendo.
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Earlier tonight, a friend and I discussed, among other things, our parents' sacrifice over dinner, and she told me that she wondered if she could ever be the rock her parents had been in raising her and her older brother. Six hours later, I've reflected on that comment and determined that I doubt I could be the rock my parents were to me.
There's a reason Sheffield is an unabashed Momma's boy -- in fact, I'd go so far as to say there are countless reasons -- and without her in my life, God knows where I'd be today. To all the mothers out there, this is your day. I know a few of you who may be reading these words, and if you are, know that I'll be saying a little prayer for you tonight. I know at times that it can be a bit difficult to balance all the roles that you have to play: counselor, disciplinarian, comforter, etc.. You ladies are truly special, and I applaud you for, in the cases that I've seen anyway, sinking your lives into your families. Jennifer, Kristi, Sherie, Kayla, Debbie, Mary, and the others, you are fantastic women and outstanding mothers. May God continue to bless you and your families always. Thank you for being great friends to me over the years.
Happy Mothers' Day, everyone. Be safe if you're traveling for the holiday...
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