In 2009 I started working for a family in Santa Maria. I hadn't changed a diaper in over 10 years. I'd never worked with a kid with cerebral palsy. But here I was, killing it (sarcasm). I worked for a family with three children. A set of twins and one younger child. The twins' birth had been complicated and as a product, one of the kiddos had a fairly advanced Cerebral Palsy (CP) diagnosis. I was coming in about 6 months after his feeding tube had been removed; I think he was around 7 years old. When I met him, he was vibrant, intelligent, and really in to Batman. While he couldn't walk unassisted, his original prognosis was that he would never talk or eat. One time the mother told me that a doctor consulted her soon after the twins' birth and suggested that the twin with CP go to a home for children "like him." Her response is officially the topic of the day: "Not my boy."
This woman worked a full time 3rd shift job so that she could accompany her son to school when the school provided aid would unavoidably fail to show up. She worked full time in a separate business built for him to get the therapies needed to make him mobile. She lost friends, received criticism from family, and sacrificed promotions at work to make sure that her son was advancing. Her drive and passion throughout the past 14 years is, "He has to be able to survive without me."
So this week, as we barrel towards the Mother's Day weekend, I'd like to celebrate a certain mother demographic, the "Ferocious" Mother.
The ferocious mother is the mother that once she leaves the room, everyone's eyes widen and they exhale for the first time since she walked in. The ferocious mother smiles and rocks on her heels, laying in wait, as she anticipates the fallout. And once the first brick falls, she springs to action like a lioness towards her babies, keeping them safe and slaying people blocking the path towards her children's success. The ferocious mother succeeds when her children accomplish what doctors, family, experts, and sometimes even the children themselves, think can't be done. The ferocious mother is silent and pleasant, until the first glance of a furrowed brow from a baby. Then the ferocious mother becomes a wolf on the hunt.
As most of you know I am not a mother. I hope to become one, sooner rather than later, but as it stands, I don't know what it feels like to love something as fiercely as a mother loves a child. And it is also worth noting that ferociousness is not inherent. The mother that I am talking about is made through desperation. Some mothers are not this type of mothers, and guess what? That's ok!!!!!! I don't suspect I'll be this type of mother; maybe that's why I have so much respect for these women that fight so hard for their babies.
I love ferocious mothers because a ferocious mother raised me. I was a little girl with a loving father and an absent mother. My grandmother saw that I needed ferocious love and she took me and protected me until her dying day. She pushed me, often to the detriment of our own relationship, towards success and away from the habits and traits that broke my own family apart. I'll never forget her wagging finger as she told my step-father that no stranger would be taking her granddaughter away in a car. I'll never forget the subtle dinner conversations that said, "When you go to college..." And even though she passed away before I started Chiropractic school, she knew I was going. She, in her 60's was waiting for me at midnight after marching band competitions. She threatened me, not with failure, but with mediocrity because to fail meant that I'd tried.
I met a woman recently, with two boys. She thinks that she hurt my feelings. She thinks she was mean. But I must say, with absolute adolation, that she simply let me know that she loves her children ferociously, and she wont let anyone stand in the way of her children's success. So to you, sweet, fiery woman, Happy Mother's day.
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