Why I Feel Like a Queen This Mother's Day

by Amy Ruhlin

These later years of motherhood have gifts waiting for us, of that I am sure. I don't know yet what they are, but I stay alert.

My daughter, and my son, are both in their early 20s. They are smitten with the idea of endless possibilities and surprising opportunities. They are embarking on their young, exciting lives, and heeding the call: "Come on in! The water is fine. You'll love it." They wade in, eagerly, waist deep. I strain to watch, standing safely along the shoreline, my feet firmly planted in the sand.

As I watch them dive in, I remind myself that this is now their time. We boomer parents had our own spotlight for many years. But now, we stand a bit in the shadows, and if we have the courage and wisdom, we will at least try to be the elders, the ones who have the sense to get off of center stage and instead, offer a supporting role. Comes a time, boomers.

My son recently took me to his college art studio where we ran into some of his fellow students. He eagerly introduced me: "This is my Mom," he said. I loved the way he said "Mom" -- there was gladness, gratitude and dare I say, pride in his voice. His hip, young friends' eyes lit up. "Your Mom! Wow, has she seen your work yet?" "Not yet!' he replied. When they left, my son and I walked through the studio together, while he gently and humbly pointed out some of his art. I could tell that it meant something to him to show his mom his work. And somehow, for the first time, instead of feeling like an older mother, I felt like a Queen.

It wasn't like when I was a younger mom. I didn't feel needed. I didn't feel like I had to have all of the answers. Or that I was taking care of him. Instead, I felt recognized. I felt appreciated. I felt honored.

So, give it up boomer mamas. Our supporting role is the best one yet.

All hail the Queen on this Mother's Day.

The Best Thing I Learned From My Mother

by Amy Ruhlin

When I was a young girl my mother would open the front door of our home in the evenings, tilt her head to look at the sky and say, "Look at the moon!" Instead, I would look at her face. And I would see pure joy. At the time, I wasn't aware of what I was seeing; I was a distracted teenager and for the life of me, I could not figure out why the sight of the moon made my mother so happy. I would tilt my head to look at the sky too, and though I saw the same moon, I knew that I was not feeling what she was feeling. I also knew that it was important, this mysterious connection that my mother had that I could not quite yet grasp. I knew that whatever my mother was feeling when she looked at the moon, I wanted to feel it, too.

She loved trees. My aunt once helped her look for a house to rent, and years later, after I was grown, my aunt said to me, "Your mother was going through so much turmoil when I helped her find that rental, but all she cared about was making sure that she found a property that had plenty of trees!”

When I was 12 years old, my mother decided to have a small house built on an acre of land that had once been her father's garden. It was an acre without any trees. Once the house was completed, she spent the next ten years planting and growing trees: crepe myrtles lined the driveway, pin oaks stood in the front yard and cedars edged the sides of the house. She turned the backyard into a field of fruit trees. And she did it all while working full-time and being a single mother.

We spent many days and nights sitting together on her screened porch, surrounded by the beauty of her trees. And I knew that the sight of them brought her comfort.

My mother had a great sense of humor and one of her favorite expressions was: "The world is going to hell in a hand basket!" Whenever she said it, I’d roll my eyes and laugh, thinking she was just overreacting or being funny. But I now know it was her quirky, southern way of expressing concern for the environment – her grief over trees being bulldozed for “progress” and the moon becoming obscured by pollution.  In fact, she once gave me the book, “The Sense of Wonder,” by the noted environmental writer, Rachel Carson. It still sits on my bookshelf today.

I currently live in a house with a lot of windows. And through every window, I can see towering trees with thick, green leaves in the summer and beautiful, bare branches in the winter.  Each evening, when the moon shines through the highest window in my family room, I tilt my head to look at the sky and I say to my family, "Look at the moon!” As my chest expands, I feel as if the glow of the moon is coming from inside of me.

My mother showed me that in the midst of life’s pain and turmoil, grief and loss, I can find great comfort in the beauty of a tree, deep joy at the sight of the moon and a sense of wonder by simply noticing the world around me.