My Mother Is Still My Home

Sometimes, after I’ve spent hours on FaceTime with my mom, Bo will ask what we talked about.

I often can’t give him much of an answer.

Nothing in particular. Whatever came up. One thing led to another, and somehow we’ve been talking for hours.

I may not have a conversation to summarize, but I know how I feel afterward. Lighter. Reassured. Happy that we talked.

My mom lives in the Philippines, and I live here in Texas. We FaceTime often. We don’t need an occasion or important news to call each other. Sometimes we’re simply keeping each other company, talking about whatever comes to mind.

I love that about us.

I’ve been thinking about her lately, about the mother she has been and the person she continues to be in my life. In my opinion, she’s the best mom anyone could have. I know I’m saying that as her daughter, but I also say it as a mother who understands more now than I once did.

She became a mother very young. When I think about that now, I appreciate her in a different way. At an age when she was still beginning her own life, she was already caring for her children and putting us first.

She has always been kind and caring. She is also funny, and that belongs in any story I tell about her. Our conversations aren’t always serious. We laugh. We wander from one subject to another. I enjoy her company as much as I depend on her comfort.

I can come to her about anything.

When I’m sad or stressed about something, she always seems to know what to say. I don’t have to have everything sorted out before I talk to her. I can bring her what’s bothering me, and somehow, by the time we finish, it feels less heavy.

Whatever I called about may still need my attention. But I feel more able to face it.

I’m a mother of five and a grandmother now. My children are grown, with lives and families of their own. There is so much joy in being someone they can turn to. And there is a particular comfort in knowing that I still have my own mother to turn to, too.

She is my role model. When I think about the kind of mother I want to be, I think of her kindness, her care, and the way her children have always mattered so deeply to her. I hope my children feel some of that same reassurance when they come to me.

As she gets older, I find myself more aware of how much our time together means to me. Living far apart, I can’t always sit beside her or give her a hug. But I can call. I can listen. I can spend an afternoon talking with her, even if neither of us has anything particular to say.

And I can tell her I love her.

I do that often. I want her to hear it from me and to know how much she means to me. How grateful I am to be her daughter. How much of the mother I’ve become began with being loved by her.

Some of the conversations I treasure most are still the ones I can barely describe afterward.

We talked. We laughed. I got to spend time with my mom.

She is my home, my guiding light.

And even from the other side of the world, she can still make me feel that everything is going to be all right.

Levisa