May 2009 Archives

It was the morning of November 15th, 1980. The snow had come early that year to Tulsa, Oklahoma, and the sky was uncharacteristically overcast with a hint of yet more to come.

Inside the maternity suite with my former husband, Glenn, I cared neither about the weather nor anything else other than to finally deliver my first baby, who was three weeks overdue. My mother paced in the waiting room and restlessly peered out of the window. My father sat on the sofa and spoke quietly to Glenn's parents.

At exactly 11:22 a.m., a bright ray of sunshine suddenly filled the small waiting room, bursting through the dark clouds, its rays spreading out over the shiny gray hospital linoleum floor, creating a glare that made everyone squint. For one full minute, the light filled the room, only to be engulfed again by the somber storm clouds. My mother smiled.

Shortly after that, Glenn burst through the double doors of the delivery room at the end of the hall and motioned for everyone to come, and they raced down toward him just as I was wheeled out, my newborn son, Anthony already sleeping softly by my side, his tiny right hand clenched tightly around my finger in a firm grasp. I remember so clearly the warmth of the blanket wrapped around us both and the butter-soft feel of his pinkish skin. I couldn't take my eyes off him, so overwhelmed with emotions that kept sweeping over me in waves: Love, awe, protection, joy, amazement.

"He was seven pounds three ounces and was born at---" began Glenn.

"Eleven twenty-two," my mother interrupted quietly, finishing his sentence as she looked at me.

"That's right!" Glenn said, "but, how did you know?"

I couldn't help but smile as my eyes met my mom's.

"Because she's my mom," I said softly, "and a mother knows."

I thought of my mother's knowing eyes as I witnessed the births of my other three children: My second son, Philip, who struggled into the world, the cord wrapped tightly around his neck; my daughter, Elizabeth, who easily made a grand entrance into the world, as she does still; and lastly, my daughter, Emily, who thoughtfully came ten days early on December 15th instead of Christmas Day, which Santa really appreciated!

Over the years, I watched as my children grew, all different, all special, all amazing in their uniqueness, their talents, their gifts. I supported their accomplishments. I held them in their pain. I shared with them what I had been taught, and I learned from them, too! And as I watched them evolve into the wonderful young adults they have come to be, I have felt my own eyes change as well, becoming more like my mother's, not only seeing, but knowing, and touched by the honor of a lifetime of being called "Mom."

Happy Mother's Day.

Intuitively Yours,
Nan O'Brien