“What if I have lymphatic cancer,” I proposed to my husband.  “You don’t have lymphatic cancer,” he lovingly reassured me.  “But what if I do,” I insisted.  The notion had just entered my mind, and—in spite of the late hour—rolling over and calmly sleeping was no longer a possibility.

I had found a painful, hard lump under my left armpit earlier that day, and I hadn’t known what to make of it.  With this new idea in my head, the fear of death now gripped me.  I had never feared death before even though I had gone through my fair share of harrowing experiences.  My faith is one that has always given me peace in light of this inevitable occurrence.  However, life was different now.  The recent birth of my first child, Margeaux, had changed me in a profound way.

I cried myself to sleep that night.  Scenarios of Margeaux growing up without a female that was entirely devoted to her well-being paralyzed me.  I was emotionally crippled with an intensity I didn’t know existed.  This is why, when I discovered the lump was merely a clogged mammary duct (a common problem for breastfeeding moms), I was shocked at my extreme reaction to the unlikely hypothetical situation I had concocted.  

It wasn’t long before I learned this was part of the gift that the love of a child brings into life.  Whether it is a child of your own or one that has attached itself to you but belongs to another, the gift is the same.  The presence of a little person who loves you unconditionally and depends on you implicitly, somehow enables you to experience every emotion and event at a heightened level.

The children in my life....

My 5 year-old niece, Tori, always drives this truth home to me.  No matter how tired I am, I become giddy when she says, “Tickle me, Auntie Jeni!”  Somehow her squeals and squirms provide instant energy and a refreshed spirit.  In those moments I wonder if life has ever been this much fun.  

The same miracle happens when my autistic godson, Isaac, reaches a milestone in recovery and development.  When he calls my name, takes me by the hand, speaks to me in full sentences and expresses a desire to interact with me, I well up with pride.  His accomplishments emotionally move me to a place that was unreachable before he came into the world.  

Distance doesn’t lessen the power of this gift as I’ve learned with my nephew, Keane.  He lives many states from me.  Our contact is minimal, yet his difficulties with an emotionally derelict father pain me immensely.  The tender moments Keane and I have shared and his sincere expressions of gratitude for my family’s visits rally me to his cause with great force.  Were it possible, I would move heaven and earth with my bare hands to change life’s circumstances for this precious boy.

For all the women who nuture...

I can’t help but consider the wonder of this phenomenon on Mother’s Day.   What is it about a child’s needs that create an indescribable sense of urgency?  What is it about a child’s trust that incessantly drives a woman to be a better person?    What is it about a child’s affection that puts all happenings on an ethereal plane?  

The full gamut of emotions, thoughts and behaviors are so much more vivid because of the children that are mine (offspring, nieces, nephews and godchildren alike).  They have given me the inexplicable gift of touching life in a way that is acutely real and oddly surreal simultaneously.  It is a marvel that confounds me as I reflect on it.  For this reason, on Mother’s Day I will not consider it a day that is solely set aside to honor the women who nurture or have nurtured their own.  Surely, it is that; however, it is also a celebration of the gift mommies, godmommies, aunties and mommy-aunties are given by the children that honor and adore them.  This amazing gift allows our journey to become a magical one.  It is a strange and powerful blessing to have the love of a child in your life . . . a blessing worthy of the attention it is given on Mother’s Day.