An Ode to the Mother

A mother is she who can take the place of all others but whose place no one else can take. — Cardinal Gaspard Mermillod

When I was too small to speak, she understood every silly gesture of mine without me saying anything. When I dirtied my pants, she cleaned me up, not minding it a bit. When I wailed and cried unnecessarily, she wiped my tears with a smile.

Why can’t I wipe hers now?

For every small achievement of mine, she rejoiced more than me. Every time I was hurt, she worried more than me. Every time I stumbled and fell, stifling her tears, she picked me up. For every sorrow or joy, victory or failure, rain or shade, she was always by my side to support me or to pat me on the back.

Why can’t I be there for her when she needs me?

Let every joy I feel, echo in her heart. Let every tear she sheds, fall from my eyes. Let every happiness I experience, be hers. Let every sorrow that hits her heart, ache mine. Let me take all her burden, and she, all my comfort.

We will never feel the pain they feel. We may never make the sacrifice they make. We can never love the way they love.

To them that have literally and figuratively sacrificed a part of themselves for us, without being asked to, and, without asking for anything in return,

to our mothers,

this is an ode.