I have known a lot of strong women in my life. Women whose strength is soft kindness, and always forgiving. Women whose strength is never taking anyone's shit. Women whose strength is to just keep moving, even when things are terrible.
My great-grandmother raised her children mostly alone, on a farm in Arkansas, after her husband died. She lost a daughter at age 2, and then, years later, lost her two adult sons within a month of each other, just before Christmas. She had been through loss, hardship, poverty, and loneliness. But when I think of her, I remember her laugh. I remember her vitality, even at 99 years old. I remember her threatening to turn her daughter over her knee for disobeying her - her daughter who was my grandmother, in her 50's. I remember her teasing. Her love for animals. Her stories of a life well lived. Her unwavering faith. There was no bitterness in her. Only love and hope, and a mischievous streak a mile wide.
My grandmother, her daughter, was pregnant nine times, but only got to raise three of her children. Three miscarriages. Three infant deaths. And of her three surviving children, one had a life threatening birth defect. She married the love of her life, but it was never an easy marriage, and then he was diagnosed with cancer and died, leaving her with three daughters, ages 14, 11, and 9. She lost herself for years to alcoholism, only to drag herself out of it so that she could have a relationship with her grandchildren. She survived so much, and her life was never easy, right up until the end. But what I remember about her was her irreverent laugh. Her smile. Her tough talks, given with compassion and love, when I most needed to hear them. I remember her teaching me to garden (which I hated), and to fish (which I loved). I remember exploring her land, reading in her tree, chasing the cows that lived next door. I remember how she was like no other grandmother I knew. There was no softness to her. Instead, there was "inappropriate" humor and lots of cussing, and zero fear. But most of all, I remember how much she loved everyone. The old, the young, the disabled, the gay, the Christian, the Jew, the Atheist. She didn't care much about the details. She just loved you.
My other grandmother, my dad's mom. A tough woman to love, and an even more difficult one to like. I was one of the few people who could get through her rather prickly exterior to find the soft, loving, devoted woman underneath. A woman who had married an Air Force man, but soon after found herself married to the musician that man had always been. His schedule, his paychecks, were never steady or predictable enough, so in the 60's, while raising her four children, she also became the primary breadwinner of the family, as a telephone operator. I always got the sense that she had been through a lot, but she wasn't one to talk about such things. I do know that she dealt with a lot of serious health concerns in her later life, and often felt terrible. But that's not what I remember about her. I remember how confident she always seemed. How she always seemed to know exactly what needed to be done. I remember her love. I remember her hugs. I remember how much I loved her. How much she gave to me, not in the sense of material things, but in the sense of adventure and determination. She was a formidable woman, and I absolutely adored her for it.
My own mother. A woman who has been through poverty, abuse, abandonment, loss. And yet, none of those things define her. She grew up in a tumultuous household that was constantly on the move. She often talks about how many different schools she went to as a child, and how she can't even remember them all. Then, at age 11, her father died and her mother became an alcoholic. From then on, she more or less raised herself and her younger sister. Until she was 17, and had me. And then my sister when she was 21. Young. Poor. Mother to two children. At a time when most people are celebrating their adulthood with drinking binges, she was singing lullabies and reading bedtime stories. And her marriage to my dad was rarely an easy one. And yet, when I think of my childhood, I don't think of the difficulties she faced. I remember how she faced them. She went back to school and became a teacher. She turned poverty into a game of finding change and scrapping together enough to go to the dollar movie theater. She turned food insecurity into an adventure of trying new foods. Lack of transportation became an epic journey to see if we could walk all the way to K-Mart (we did!). Everything was a game or an adventure, and it wasn't until years later that I fully understood the truth of how we lived. To this day, she remains one of the most hopeful, optimistic people I've ever met - even when she has struggled with depression and anxiety. She is a pillar of strength, but not in the way any of my grandmothers was. Her strength is the quiet determination to just keep going, no matter what. And to love her family, no matter what. My mother and I are very different people, but I still admire her kind of strength.
My sister. Rocking the single mom thing. She realized when her daughter was still very young that her husband was not the sort of person she wanted to raise a child with. So with resolve, she left him and made the best of it. It has never been easy for her. She has struggled. She has moved, sometimes often. She has lived with other people, to save money. She has worked ridiculous hours to make sure her daughter never wants for anything. And in the midst of all that, she is raising a young lady who is very emotionally intelligent (as well as regular intelligent). An almost-7 year old who can talk about her fears and anxiety more clearly than I can as an adult, and seems to feel zero shame about her struggles. Not only is my sister the definition of a strong, capable woman, she is raising her daughter to be one, too. And I admire her for that.
My friends. Mommas, you know who you are. The ones who have lost babies. The ones who have come terrifyingly close to losing them. The ones who have struggled with Post Partum Depression, Anxiety, and a host of other mental illnesses. The ones who have wondered if they are good enough. The ones who have been through divorce, abuse, homelessness, trauma of all sorts. The ones who struggle with physical illnesses on top of mental ones. The ones who doubt themselves, every single day. The ones who feel lost. The ones who are confident in their parenting, even if they're confident about nothing else. The ones with only children. With seven children. With every combination in between. The ones who have loved me and my children as their own family.
To all of us: Happy Mother's Day. Together, we can do this. Thank you all for inspiring me, and helping me through this journey. I love each of you. So, so much. I cannot imagine this journey without any one of you.
May we be the women our children one day remember as the Strong Women in their lives. <3
