My friend Jay said it best when he posted the following on his Facebook page (I hope he doesn't mind that I am using it):
In the last 24 hours, one of my good friends lost a mother and another good friend became one.
I spent yesterday worrying about work – about press conferences and town halls and what's happening in Congress – but these two amazing women spent their days in hospital rooms facing great pain, great sorrow and great joy.
This morning, a wave of emotion came over me as I read through the string of messages from our group of friends that included the news of both the passing and the birth. These emotions were only compounded by the fact that my friend who lost her mother was also the one who announced the birth.
There is something about our mothers that keep us grounded in reality, and there is something about children that loosen a mother's grasp of reality. When my mom looks at me I know that she still sees me as the baby that she spent a day in the hospital for nearly 30 years ago. She sees the first steps, the first “MaMa” and countless scraped knees and elbows. She sees the first car, the graduation gowns, and the wedding tux. No matter how old I get or how far apart we are, it's humbling and inspiring to know that someone out there sees me that way.
It's the same way I know that my friend Fran will see her new baby, Jude, 30 years from now. It's the same way that my friend Jenny's mom saw her as she held her hand in the hospital yesterday and slipped quietly away.
I spent yesterday worrying about work – about press conferences and town halls and what's happening in Congress – but these two amazing women spent their days in hospital rooms facing great pain, great sorrow and great joy.
This morning, a wave of emotion came over me as I read through the string of messages from our group of friends that included the news of both the passing and the birth. These emotions were only compounded by the fact that my friend who lost her mother was also the one who announced the birth.
There is something about our mothers that keep us grounded in reality, and there is something about children that loosen a mother's grasp of reality. When my mom looks at me I know that she still sees me as the baby that she spent a day in the hospital for nearly 30 years ago. She sees the first steps, the first “MaMa” and countless scraped knees and elbows. She sees the first car, the graduation gowns, and the wedding tux. No matter how old I get or how far apart we are, it's humbling and inspiring to know that someone out there sees me that way.
It's the same way I know that my friend Fran will see her new baby, Jude, 30 years from now. It's the same way that my friend Jenny's mom saw her as she held her hand in the hospital yesterday and slipped quietly away.
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