My favourite treat on Mother’s Day is a hot cup of tea served to me while still in bed. Heaven. While I love being feted my family, it’s also a day to reflect on my relationship with my own mum, with gratitude for all that I learned about this gig from her in ways obvious and implicit.

My mother passed away a few years ago at age 90. I’m the youngest in a big family, forever “the baby” – no matter how old I am! My mother was 23 when she had her first baby, and 42 when she had her last. She birthed her babies through changing times. Her first obstetrician was a woman, a relative rarity in 1949 (though that didn’t stop her from giving her an episiotomy requiring 27 stitches). She said she didn’t remember the details of most of her births, they all sort of blurred together – except the 3 day labour with my next oldest sister when the nurses insisted she walk and walk and walk. She said she knew she could have the baby quickly if she could only lie down and sleep for a bit. She breastfed us all – definitely not the norm in 1950’s and 60’s North America. When I was struggling with breastfeeding, I asked her how she did it. “I dunno, I just did,” was her pragmatic reply.

She gave birth to 8 babies, and grieved losing 3 of them. One died before being born. One died in the first few months of life. One died in middle age.

When I was a new mother with a toddler, I asked my mum to attend a full day La Leche League parenting conference with me, to help me with childminding. I knew if I had a second set of hands to keep track of my daughter, I would be able to get so much more out of the day. What I didn’t realize was that it would be a powerful opportunity to share that intergenerational wisdom.

She joined me in one of the sessions. One mother of two was feeling spread too thin in all directions all the time. “And it’s not like my kids are little anymore.” How old were they? 2 and 5 years old. Another more experienced mom scoffed. “Oh, they’re still so young. Wait til you’re kids are older, like mine.” As if all the challenges of motherhood would vanish once our kids reached some magical age. How old were her kids? 8 and 11 years old.

My mother set down her knitting, folded her hands over her belly and chuckled softly to herself.

She hadn’t much participated in the discussions of the day. Some of the ideas being presented at the conference were definitely different than how she’d done things 30 or 40 years previously. She listened. As always, she respected my choices as I was making my way as a new parent.

But now she quietly spoke up, the only grandmother in the room, sharing the wisdom of the ages, born of all those babies – raised and lost:

“You never stop being their mother.”

You don’t stop being their mother when they wean.

You don’t stop being their mother when they sleep through the night.

You don’t stop being their mother when they begin school.

You don’t stop being their mother when they finish school.

You don’t stop being their mother when they move out.

You don’t stop being their mother when they have their own babies.

You don’t stop being their mother when they die.

This statement, in the context of all the joy and sorrow that motherhood held for her, has been a loving reminder to me through my own parenting journey. There is no finish line in this job, no milestone or achievement or event when you say, “there, I’m done”. Knowing that has somehow made it easier to hang in for the long haul, rather than getting hung up or overwhelmed with wherever we are right now – whether that’s been potty-training or high school exams.

I treasure the times I spent with my mother when my daughter was a baby. I was so blessed to have her love and support. I’m grateful for the time we had together in an adult relationship, before she slipped into dementia in her later years,  and that she was around to share her Grammy wisdom with me.

Today on Mother’s Day, I share her words with everyone who is a mother. No matter the age of your children. No matter how many you have. No matter how many you’ve lost. You never stop being their mother.

“I’ll love you forever,

I’ll like you for always,

As long as I’m living,

my baby you’ll be.”

~ Robert Munsch, “Love You Forever”