Blessed is She
Mom and I with Eva a few days before her first Christmas, 2017.
Blessed is She
My mom gently reminds me every now and then that I was a good kid every year but my seventeenth.
Truth be told, I was a “Mama’s boy” for most of my childhood. I always enjoyed making her happy in the small ways that children can. Some of my fondest early youth memories are listening to her read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe to my sister and me in the first humble house my parents bought at 52 Florence Street in Kingston, New York.
Equally memorable was my father sitting quietly with us as she read. My parents are a team; they always have been. Dad proposed to Mom after just five months. Olivia came early in their marriage, and I followed soon thereafter. They made it through some tough nights with Dad working the graveyard shifts at IBM and equally tough days when Mom took care of us while Dad slept.
My father has always embodied the work ethic of his own father - as the head of the household, you provide, period. You serve your wife and prioritize the wellbeing of your children.
During early school years, I have countless memories of Mom taking us to and from our little 200-student Catholic grade school. She’d always make sure we were on time, and was always there with a smile when we went to the parking lot at the end of the day.
I also distinctly remember her breaking to me the news of 9/11 as we left that same parking lot. I can almost hear her shaking words as she told me how 50,000 people worked in each of those buildings, and what awful events transpired that day. I doubt much had prepared her with the right words on a day like that, but she was gentle and honest, not to mention she let me see her sorrow and compassion. That image will never leave me.
As I entered high school, I generally sought good performance thanks to the encouragement and standards set by my mother. Dad was the overall pillar for us of what right looked like through hard work and dedication. Mom had a way with impressing the finer points on Olivia and me.
Perhaps by testosterone-infused rebellion, I hit a rough patch in my senior year. The biggest regret is that it affected my relationships with friends and family, but notably my mother. She truly wanted what was best for me and could see right through my own emotions and general stupidity. It hurt my Dad too, of course - I hurt his beloved bride, and I’d be furious too.
Fast forward a few years later, Mom seemed to know a thing or two, yet again. She encouraged me to maintain the course with Air Force ROTC when the scholarship I’d verbally been awarded was vaporized due to administrative issue. Also, she never truly “endorsed” any of the dating relationships I’d pursued...up until Caroline. She saw a picture of us from my first time visiting with her side of the family and just had a feeling that she’d be the one for me. She was right.
There have been other influential women throughout my childhood and into adulthood. The late, great “Nanny” was a powerful influence, as I’ve mentioned before. My maternal Grandmother continues to be a steady presence of holiness and warmth, despite us not seeing each other often. My mother-in-law - bluntly, I’m damn lucky to have her. The same is true for many more ladies that continue to influence me and the family man I’m trying to be. They’ll pop up in future posts.
The ultimate example so many of us turn to is the Blessed Virgin Mary. She said yes to the Will of God in such indescribable profundity - her “Fiat” brought our Savior into the world. She and Joseph answered the call as they raised the Son of God in their humble family. They ensured his earthy needs were met so he was ready for His mission.
Thanks Mom for saying yes to serving and leading your family.
-MJVW