I cannot believe that I have had to have a child of my own in order to really and truly appreciate my mother. To truly understand the love I have for her, and for that love to have multiplied instantly the moment my baby was born.
“The most difficult part of birth is the first year afterwards. It is the year of travail – when the soul of a woman must birth the mother inside her. The emotional labour pains of becoming a mother are far greater than physical pangs of birth; these are the growing surges of your heart as it pushes out selfishness and fear and makes room for sacrifice and love. It is a private and silent birth of the soul, but it is no less holy than the event of childbirth, perhaps it is even more sacred.”
This definition of the birth of a mother was shared with me by a friend. There are millions of other things I could add to this definition, but I think it sums it up quite well. A mother is birthed, it is a process, it is a journey and it is definitely not just a moment in time. I call myself a mother, to my almost four month old little princess, but I by no means know what that means yet.
There is no amount of gratitude that I can express towards my mother that would ever be worthy of what she has done for me. I can only but wish that she knows how thankful and grateful I am for all that she has done and sacrificed for me, for all her time, for all her efforts and most of all, for all her love.
I am forever grateful to the Almighty for granting me my mother, for granting her life, for granting her the ability to raise me and love me and for granting her the time and ability to be there for me when I needed her the most. I will never be able to comprehend how thankful I must be for having a mother.
All praises are due to the Almighty!
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