Some Birds never leave the Nest
One day, shortly after moving to Missouri, my eight your old Jeremy called me to his second floor bedroom. I ran upstairs to see what he wanted to share with me. On a tree branch outside his window was a nest with three blue eggs. For the first time in my life I saw robin eggs and they were beautiful. Over the next month, we watched the mother bird patiently care for her eggs. Day after day, she guarded them. After their birth, she nurtured her babies providing them all the necessities of food, warmth, and protection. In due time, we watched the babies stretch and spread their wings, with their mother right by their side. As they began to fly, she flew with them from tree to tree, to the fence, and eventually into the neighbor’s yard. It was time, all too soon, for her last flight with them . . and they were gone. It was an unforgettable event, watching the full season of her motherhood. It seemed very short, as it does for many of us. But for some, motherhood responsibilities last until they themselves are gone. These are mothers whose work never ends. About four years ago, my special needs daughter Kelsey graduated from high school and found placement in a sheltered workshop. It was a large facility that catered to those with disabilities. Kelsey quickly found a full-time position and new friends. I wanted to meet the other workshop moms and asked when the next parents’ meeting would be held. I was told that it the following Thursday. On the day of the meeting, I arrived twenty minutes early. The workshop receptionist directed me to the meeting room. I observed the workers as I hurried through the workshop to find it. When I arrived at what I thought was the meeting room, I found five ‘gray haired’ ladies. I apologized for disturbing them and returned to the receptionist. The receptionist repeated the same directions to me and it was exactly where I had previously been. I explained to her my confusion as I described the age of the mothers in that room. She responded, “Those are the parents”. The ‘gray haired’ ladies were the moms. Reluctantly, I returned to the room. As I walked through the workshop once again, I was apprehensive because of the age of the moms. I had always thought of myself as an older mom (which I am reminded of every day by my children), but these moms had to be at least 60. I entered the room, sat down, and introduced myself. I told them about my daughter, my family, and that I was forty something. The moms introduced themselves. Their ages ranged from 60 to 84. Their special needs children ranged from 40 to 65. Their workshop children had outlived their fathers and most of their siblings. These sweet ‘gray haired’ ladies cared for their children alone every day. I listened to their stories as they bonded with each other. One spoke of her nighttime regimen of waking her adult child every two hours. The next mom talked about her child’s intense medical care. I learned that some of their children were in wheelchairs. Some were in diapers. Some had to be spoon-fed. All had to be bathed. I could hardly sit still and listen to their stories. They touched my heart. They were parenting, when they should have been grandparenting, at the age of 60. What made me even sadder was that none of them knew about the current programs of transportation, family support, or respite (baby sitting) care. They were full-time mothers who were all alone. My heart ached for each one of them. Over this past month, I have thought a lot about Mother’s Day. There are so many wonderful moms out there who have touched my life. There is my own mother, my mother-in-law, and my two grandmothers who passed away before I was born. Then there are the mothers of my kids’ friends, who I appreciate more and more each day. Add to the list the mothers of great school teachers. These are inspiring women who have had an impact on my life and the lives of my children. But today I will pay respect to my ‘gray haired’ lady friends, a small group of very special mothers. That morning in my daughters’ sheltered workshop changed my life. I met the most extraordinary, no, remarkable mothers. Those mothers reminded me of the robin outside my son’s window. Although, there is a difference. My ‘gray haired’ lady friends’ season of motherhood will not end . . . because some birds never leave the nest.

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