Mother's Day is this weekend.  It is always the second Sunday in May.  I do like when holidays are predictably on the same day year after year after year.  Unlike Christmas, which stays with December 25th thus rolling every year to another day of the week until it covers them all every seven years, Mother's Day doesn't move day wise.  Though Mother's Day officially become a national holiday in 1914, declared by then President Woodrow Wilson, its origins date back to ancient Egypt's worship and honor of Isis, the goddess mother of the Pharaohs.  The Greeks had their own version of mother/goddess worship.  Eventually, the Christian/Catholic Church enacted a Mothering Day to allow those celebrating Lent to travel to their families paying special honor to their mothers by their presence and gifts.  I am a mother.  Yesterday I ate lunch with my daughter, my only biological child.  As we shared our lunches with each other in my office, I found myself remembering.  No matter how old she gets, she is still my child and I am still her mother.  Those roles have morphed and evolved over the years making room for change and growth and maturation.  It has required deliberation of letting her be her at every stage of her life thus far to age 25.  As she talked and we laughed I thought about every phase of her life and how much I loved each one.  There may have been parts and pieces that were hard or needed adjustment, but I have loved being her mom.  I felt privileged to have been given such an amazing intricate gift as her.  Sitting in before me yesterday she was beautiful, articulate, funny, compassionate and just fully Hannah.  I marveled that I could know her so well, and yet want to know her more.  I remembered her falling asleep at the table at 3 years old while chewing her food.  I remembered her loving to wear her Burger King crown constantly.  I remembered her confusing the Pledge of Allegiance and America The Beautiful as a medley that required both said and sung one right after the other.  I remembered her always wanting to come in my bed and snuggle.  I remembered wrapping her up in a blanket at 8 years old and carrying her outside in the cool midnight air to see the lunar eclipse.   I remembered her bad short haircut her freshman year and curling her hair every day as she mournfully waited for it to grow out again.  I remembered her hugging me hard on the couch when she was 8 - one of my favorite pictures of her.  I saw her sprawled out on the floor with encyclopedias and medical journals recopying the pages as she declared she wanted to be a cardiologist.  I remembered her first date and her heartbreak when that nice boy broke it off later when he went off to college.  I remembered her graduation from high school and from college.  I heard her tender voice in my head as she called to tell me her and God had gotten things straightened out.  I saw her clearly on her wedding day.  I snapped back to the present lunch conversation I was having with her.  There was nothing she could ever get me for Mother's Day that would ever surpass the gift I had already been given - her. 

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