Jackie Zimmerer is a wife and mother of four sons. She attends St. John's Catholic Church in the Diocese of Fort Worth, Texas.
There's a Hall of Fame for almost every profession. I think it's a real shame that there isn't one for Mommies!
Hummm… lets see… If I could build one, who would I nominate?
No, it wouldn't be high-profile mothers; I think my Mommy Hall of Fame would include those quietly heroic women whose loving sacrifice becomes the fabric of their families' existence.
There'd be ladies who lovingly (although sometimes impatiently) care for their children, all the while learning unconditional love.
It'd include women who are valiantly raising children alone due to the unexpected death of a husband. There would be a myriad of other single moms who struggle to do what's best for their kids, find a moment alone while dealing with profound loneliness and stay out of the poor house.
I'd nominate moms who left jobs to stay home and attend to pee, poop, puke and snot followed by mountains of laundry, stacks of dishes and countless meals. I'd also nominate moms who, for one reason or another, couldn't quit, but are nevertheless overwhelmed by those same chores.
There'd be moms trying to figure out how to get three children below the age of five and the amount of groceries it will take to get their family through the next few days all in the same buggy.
There'd also be survivors of teenagers who are taken by surprise when their little angels' halos (and wings) temporarily fall off.
I'd include frazzled mommies who, at some unknown time in their lives, develop the habit of praying in the bathroom because sitting on the throne is the only time they get to talk to the King alone. Women who have to re-learn algebra, biology and English after more-years-than-they-want-to-think-about in order to help with homework would be nominated, too.
I think there'd be moms who smile and wave through the tears, even though their hearts feel like they will explode when beloved children move into the next stage of life. There'd be a special award of some kind as offspring leave the nest, whether it be the first semester away at college, into their first apartment, united in marriage, or even marching off to war. Just because a mom knows that the cycle of life has come full circle doesn't ease the pain of knowing that her active days of motherhood have just come to an end.
A whole wing would be dedicated to moms who watch as their now-grown children and grandchildren struggle through all of the above… all of which are completely out of the scope of the empty-nester's control.
And last but not least, there would be a special place of honor for ladies whose children, for one reason or another, are no longer of this world.
But… wait a minute. Come to think of it, there is a hall of fame for moms. It just doesn't have one common address.
The Mommy Hall of Fame is found in bedroom drawers, storage boxes in the back of the bottom of some closet or under the bed. That tribute consists of yellowing photo albums, or stacks of prints still in paper envelopes stuffed in shoe boxes, and other mementos that bring smiles and tears every time she looks at them.
It's in scrapbook pages, frozen-in-time memories, and precious items that are better than any award or recognition. Construction paper cards with x's and o's scrawled in crayon, photos of small children with spaghetti on their head or cake on their faces, and remembrances of ears that are too big for little bodies flood the soul with warmth. This memorial includes likenesses of youngsters pulling at scratchy Sunday clothes, writing samples from Kindergarten, and sometimes even baby teeth… items that touch the heart more than any formal award ever could.
In the Mommy Hall of Fame, suddenly scratches on furniture, holes in walls and bedroom doors, flashbacks of those wild trips to the Emergency Room, sleepless nights, and even the fact that a shouldn't-have-been-thrown-in-the-house ball broke a favorite memento from a now-gone grandmother fade into their proper prospective.
More valuable than any nomination is the remembrance of snotty hugs and kisses, little ones smiling in their sleep, first words (including the less-than-desired kind), first steps, and all the rest of the life-changing moments that can, in an instant, make up for almost anything.
And in that moment, no other recognition would be enough.
Copyright 2004 by Jackie Zimmerer
