A Mother's Day fable

Ya, ya, ya. So I wrote this blog about my mom on Mother's Day. Ever since then I've felt like this horrible hypocrite. Don't get me wrong, I meant every single word I said about my momma. It's just, well, it's just that that day was anything but a warm fuzzy day for me.
Aside from the giant hug from my own mom brought on by the salami cheese rolls, my Mother's Day was spent largely either in tears or on the verge of tears. The fact that there would be no trek across the field to gma's effected me more than I wanted to admit. She wasn't my mother but especially in those four months before she went Home, I morphed into this weird forth daughter kind of person. Mother's Day will never be quite the same without her. It just sucked. 
But that wasn't all that was amidst. My own children didn't seem to recognize that I deserved to be recognized that day. (Insert sarcasm here) Don't get me wrong, the instantaneous "Happy Mother's Day" from my oldest as we walked into the dollar store was welcomed but tempered with the fact that I had just mentioned it was Mother's Day. Ya, I was fishing for acknowledgement. So what? My middle guy apparently offered his own verbal version of accolades in the middle of me having to get on to him for something - a fact reported to me by my oldest so the jury is still out on the validity of the report. My youngest son? He didn't get any memos. Then there was my daughter.
Oh the lovely little pink Piggy - who had just days before in her anger thrown her soccer ball & beamed me, an innocent bystander, in the back of the head. In her anger, her stubborn side (which comes from her dad, I assure you) refused to let her apologize to me. One day. Two days. Three days passed. No apology. She walked in with this tiny bouquet of flowers from gma's yard, offered, "I'm sorry I hit you with my soccer ball. Happy Mother's Day." And there it was. My Mother's Day 2016. I know you're fabulously jealous.
Monday I spent the day fighting a horrible headache & celebrating at my pity party for one. No, really. The only thing missing was a white cake with buttercream icing. I played my music & cleaned the house so lovingly left a mess. I'm sure left that way ensuring I wouldn't get bored the day following such a fabulous outpouring of about me-ness. It sucked. Mother's Day sucks.
So this morning when my pitiful self woke up with a debilitating headache, I was sure that I'd be on my own again. When my prescription strength painkillers for my back did nothing to curb the pain, I quickly found myself on the bathroom floor, laying on my robe, trying not to expel the nothingness that was in my stomach. I cried. Surprised? I didn't think so.
When I finally made it back to the bed, a tiny face peered through the crack in the bedroom door. "Momma? Are you ok?" I motioned her to me. "I really need some water baby girl." That was it. Like a call to arms, my children, the ones who two days before failed my expectations, immediately sprung into action.
Throughout the day, there were cups of water, an offer for the thermometer, repeated trips taking out the trash & rebagging the can, peeps through the cracked door and silence. Wonderful, beautiful silence. In my stupor and fog, I had missed the tray of food they had prepared at some point - a granny smith apple cut & cored, a cinnamon bagel topped with cinnamon sugar butter they had made because we were out, a Monster and a beautiful pink carnation from Piggy's own recital bouquet with a note - We hope you feel better soon.
The gravity of what transpired today didn't hit me until the fog wore of this evening. No, my children did not set aside this one day out of the year where society & culture tell them they have to acknowledge & praise me for doing my job. What did happen was something far greater. In a time when I needed them most, they set aside themselves & served me all day long. Those acknowledgements & servants' hearts speak volumes louder than any "Happy Mother's Day" ever could. They demonstrated their love, they didn't just say it.
I like to think that all moms wonder - Are my kids ever going to "get it"? Unfortunately for me, today my kids demonstrated that not only do they get it but they get it even when I don't. It's not that they didn't love me on Mother's Day, it's that they continue loving me the other 364 days a year.