happy mother's day

The magic of Christmas, the genius behind every birthday party theme, and the chef of Thanksgiving dinner: Mom.

I have learned that life is about the people that surround your birthday cake, the ones that hold your hand when you're scared, hug you when you need to feel loved, and the ones that can push you to work to your fullest ability.

Those traits embody my mom. She could go pro in each of those categories.

My mom tied my soccer cleats the best, knew how to braid my hair the tightest, was my class-mom in every school room, volunteered on my sports teams and has put hundreds of thousands of miles on her car to drive me where I needed to go.

All my siblings too, of course. But, I like to think I went through a specific learning curve with my mom as the oldest.

Both of us figuring life out for the first time. I mean, my mom was 25 when she had me and it scares me half to death that I am not far away from age 25. (I am turning 23 in June and terrified - but that's a story for a later date).

I have been thinking about what it means to be a mother, the gratitude I have, and how my mom and my grandmothers have shaped me into the woman I am today.

It was not until this past year that I understood the gravity of my mom losing her mom at a young age. My Nana was only 60 when she passed - and it was nowhere near expected.

I spent the last year thinking more about my Nana than I ever have in recent years - probably because her death is a traumatic experience for me to have witnessed at such a young age. I often avoid the thought of January 5, 2016.

That day holds a kind of heartbreak I still avoid revisiting.

And meanwhile, my mom stayed afloat. Her world was crashing and I am sure we all had breakfast on the table, our hair done, and funeral outfits ready to go.

It takes strength to be a mother, but it takes an Everest amount of force to continue motherhood while you grieve someone that made you the mother you are. The weight of my Nana's loss grows each year I get older and realize how important my mom is.

I see bits of my Nana every day in my mom, and I hope that when I become a mom I see bits of my mom in myself.

The two of them carry others' problems like battle scars and somehow feel no pain. They carry worry and love in a way that I have never seen. My Nana was holding the mirror to my mother.

My Vovo was another epitome of motherhood. The freezer was always full of our favorite treats, pool toys were overflowing, and when the kids got old enough to fight over the toy cash register, she got another one so we could operate two stores at once.

She raised four boys essentially a year apart from one another and just LOVED being a grandmother to her grandchildren. "God, Family and then Friends" is one of the few sayings she still says, and when she tells me that it feels like - for a moment - she does not have Alzheimer’s Disease.

I now look at my Vovo's sister, who we call Aunt Vicki, and see their love through the phone transcending memory loss, navigating being widows together even though my Vovo does not know it, and the connection they share as the two siblings left in their family.

Their sisterhood and motherhood is a beautiful testament to the power it holds.

The best gift my mom ever gave me was a sister and the best gift I ever had was the house I grew up in. Not because there were always toys when I needed them or water when I was thirsty, but because there was never a shortage of love.

There was not a day where I was not comfortable, clean, well-fed, and well-loved.

And that is all owed to my mother, and her mother (my Nana) for teaching her the way, and for my Vovo and her sisters and their mother. I mean, I am named Jane after my mom's grandma and from what I heard, she was the coolest lady in town.

These women, these matriarchs, shaped me into the sister, daughter, niece, friend, student, and hopefully mother I hope to become. They gave me my world: the people I will hold onto even when they themselves can no longer be here.

Not that I bring up Taylor Swift any chance I get, but her song "marjorie" about her late grandmother always reminds me to talk to and about the matriarchs in my life for as long as I can, while I still can.

I do not want to wish I had saved every grocery store receipt. I already feel that way with my Nana since she has passed, and with my Vovo who is still here but without a full cognitive memory.

I wish I understood the severity of her diagnosis sooner and asked more questions about life, motherhood, and what it was like to grow up the way she did. What it felt like to lose her sister, how she navigated raising my dad and my uncles.

Same with my Nana. I will infinitely think of questions I wish I could ask her. I miss the feeling of being a little girl and having two grandmas.

I often wish I could still call my Nana or have an old conversation with my Vovo where she is not confused. I hope to never imagine a world where my mom cannot answer the other end of the phone call.

I miss watching my mom and Nana fold laundry in her room, talk on the phone, make us dinner or put us to bed.

On Mother's Day I think of that. I think of the fond memories, the mothers I miss, and the mother I am blessed with each day.

I urge everyone on Mother's Day to think about their matriarchs, who brought them where they are today, and who will carry them through the rest of their lives and to thank them.

Their strength often goes unnoticed because it becomes so routine.

Happy Mother's Day to all mothers (and obviously my own).

The one who made my mother a mother,

Jane