My earliest memories are of being a two years old looking
into the eyes of the most beautiful, intelligent, loving, perfect person in the
world, my mother. At that time, I
was convinced that everything she told me was the absolute truth. Life seemed perfect and fair and
wonderful. But, as I grew older, I
learned that some of the things she told me were not entirely true. It turned out there really isn’t a
bunny delivering candy during the night.
She didn’t really divulge everything about the scary things on the news
either. So, I began to question how
often she was really telling the truth.
I also wondered how wonderful and fair things really were in the world
and in my life.
In my teen years, I decided I didn’t want to believe my Mom
at all. It seemed annoying to
think that she knew more than me.
What she told me seemed so far away from what I wanted to be true. I decided I was smart and worldly; so,
she had to be wrong. We would
argue on a regular basis while I tried to convince her that I knew better than
she did. It seemed our arguments
would only end when she declared the way things were going to be. My retort would be to state the
unfairness of it all. To be sure
she got the last word; my mother would reply “life isn’t fair.” And that was it. So, I would fume teenage style, stomp off,
slam a door, and pout until I got either bored or hungry. Life really wasn’t fair, but I
convinced myself that she made it that way.
After spending some time on my own, I once again began to
suspect my Mom might be right some of the time. I would never admit it to her; but it seems that my Mom knew
an awful lot of useful things for surviving in the world. I would call her on a regular basis
with my questions. She always had
an answer and her answer always lead me in the right direction. Her wisdom may have helped me make it
on my own, but I still wasn’t prepared to admit that officially. It seemed her wisdom began to make the
world a little less scary and a little more perfect, fair and wonderful once
again.
When I became the ever beautiful, intelligent, loving,
perfect person to a little someone, I learned for myself how right my mother’s
words always were. My heart was no
longer inside my chest, but outside myself and with my little one. The world no longer revolved around
me. I could see the pain in other
people’s eyes. I saw bullies pick
on my child for no other reason than because they could. I saw the homes of decent, hardworking
people destroyed. I saw hearts
broken. I saw innocence stolen way
too early. I would see these
things and find myself thinking the world isn’t always wonderful and
perfect. Then I would uttering, “life
just isn’t fair.” And as I uttered those words, I would hear my Mom’s
voice.
It was as I uttered these words to my own little one, I
really began to understand what my Mom was actually saying all of those times. As I uttered the words “life isn’t fair,”
I stopped myself from saying the “but” that seemed to be on the edge of my
tongue. I realized, my Mom had
never said the “but” either and yet all this time she must have been thinking
it. It turns out what I really intend
to say to my little one was “life isn’t fair, but I have you.” It doesn’t matter how unfair life turns
out to be as long as I have you, my little one. You, my little one, make the journey all worth it. And in that moment I realized, all this
time my Mom really has been right and it had nothing to do with wonderful, perfect and fair, but the love she felt for me
despite the unfairness of everything else. I also realized that her being right, has less to do with
what she says or how wonderful and fair she makes the world seem; but, how much
she taught me to love others despite the unfairness of everything else.
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