My Other Mother

This family picture was taken on Mother's Day in 2003. Little did we know then -- it would be the last time we would celebrate Mother's Day with Larry's mom, and our last family picture taken with with my other mother.

Today, as Mother's Day approaches, I can't help but think about my two moms. Neither of them walk this earth anymore, but they are alive and well in a better place. (For the child of God -- "Absent from the body is present with the Lord." ) Tomorrow I will post a poem that my mom wrote when she was very young (about 13 or 14). Today I am posting a poem that I wrote about my other mom.

This poem is really the story of my relationship with my mother-in-law, from start to finish. I wrote it just a few years ago when she was nearing the end of her life. As you read it, please-please-please keep in mind that it was not written to "bad-mouth" her, but rather to show the wonderful work of God! God did a miracle of love and grace in my heart, and brought about a miraculous change in her as she responded to His work in both of us. So, although this poem is very long and very negative at first, please keep reading to see the end result in His miracle of love and grace.
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“My Other Mom”

I called her Mom because of her son;
She gave him life and I gave him fun.
After we married it became clear,
Mom wanted to keep her son so dear.
She didn’t bring me into her life;
I was not daughter — just Larry’s wife;

I tried hard to please, thinking that she,
as time went by, would learn to love me.
I played the role of daughter-in-law,
but over time I eventually saw:
No matter how hard I tried to please,
she made no attempt to put me at ease.

Two babies were born — she adored one;
Mom loved our daughter, but not our son.
Why she chose Sherry was plain to see:
Sherry looked like them — Jim looked like me.
(Or was it because she was first-born?)
As Jim was ignored, my heart was torn.

One day it happened — Larry’s dad died;
Left all alone—she stuck by our side.
Dependent on us for everything,
her cares and complaints to us she’d bring.
We must meet her needs and help her live;
but unasked advice was all she would give.

Our children grew up — Mom stayed the same;
Sherry has her love — Jim has her name.
Though childhood is gone, it’s still so clear:
Grandma prefers her granddaughter dear.
Jim tried to care — his love used to show,
but he lost interest a long time ago.

I also tried to give lots of care,
to show her the heart I longed to share.
I called her my mom and tried to be
a daughter to her, so she would see
how much I longed to be in her life.
“Call me Jeannie--not just Larry’s wife!”

Things only got worse as years rolled by;
then came the day that she said goodbye.
“I’ll go back home to Tennessee,
because I love them and they love me.”
You’re too busy — I’m just in your way;
I’m not wanted here, so I’ll not stay.

Age took its toll and it became clear:
the time had now come to move her here.
I made the choice to love her again,
regardless of how the past had been.
She didn’t love me, but I loved her,
God filled me with grace and that’s for sure!

To show her my love I poured out care;
I trimmed her nails and prettied her hair.
Week after week I gave her my time;
she offered to pay — I took not a dime.
Again and again she heard me say,
“I do it for love and not for pay.”

At last it happened — my reward came;
She opened her heart and spoke my name:
“Jeannie, because you’ve been so kind,
I’d like you to have something of mine.
Whatever you want--I’ll give it to you,
to show my thanks for all that you do.”

My heart was touched to see her soften;
and sense her warmth I’d longed for so often.
Now, at long last she's accepted me;
the love in her heart is plain to see.
Not for her stuff did I really care;
it was her love I wanted to share.

Three years have gone by since she came here;
and I have seen there’s nothing to fear.
God’s love conquered all — kindness won out.
Giving myself is what it’s all about!
Time heals all wounds — my heart is at rest;
in caring for her I have been blessed.

I’m happy to know, as her life ends,
that now it’s me on whom she depends.
I call her my mom because now I see,
that I am to her what she is to me:
a daughter, a friend, a companion true,
someone devoted who cares for you.

I first called her Mom because of her son;
but now I know, as her days are done,
that I call her Mom because I see:
I really love her and she really loves me!
It took thirty years to knit this bond;
now I’m her daughter and she’s my mom.