A Mother's Heart

A Mother’s Heart 

A human heart is about the size of a fist and weighs less than a pound, but a mother’s heart is different. A mother’s heart is the biggest, strongest thing in the world. Although it looks like any other human heart, a mother’s heart is special. Its extraordinary qualities cannot be seen even under the most powerful microscope; they can only be felt. 

From the time she first sees her child, a mother’s heart is no longer hers. Whether she is a biological or an adoptive mother, her heart will belong to her child until she takes her final breath and her heart beats no more. The mother gives her heart away willingly; indeed, it would be almost impossible for her not to give her heart to her child. 

A mother’s heart, although physically small, is full of love that never ends. It is like the deepest well, replenished from an unknown, unseen source. This heart also is filled with hope and wisdom and courage. A mother’s heart is tough, yet gentle. It can be stern, yet it gives love without questioning, without reservation. A mother’s heart swells with pride when her child does something special. It is elated when her child gives her a drawing or anything created by her child’s own hands, no matter how rough or crude the attempt. A mother’s heart knows no sweeter sound than her child saying “Mommy.” 

A mother’s heart is more perceptive than the most sensitive of instruments. It can sense things that cannot be seen or heard, only those that can be felt. It just ‘knows’ when something is wrong or when her child is hurting, when intuition is her only guide. 

A mother’s heart can endure incredible pain. It can be broken into a million little pieces when she watches her child struggle. When her child screams at her “I hate you.” When she sees her child put her life at risk with self-destructive behaviors. When her child is crushed by the failure of a first love. When her child betrays her mother’s trust. Broken, crushed, hurting, the mother’s heart goes on. Although the mother’s heart may ache with an almost unbearable pain, the flow of love never ceases, like a river suddenly swollen by the melting snows or a torrential rain. Her child may ignore or hurt her, but the heart’s well of love never runs dry. It may need some time to recover from being broken; it may need time and distance away from the child it so loves. But invariably, the hurt and the anger and the disappointment will pass. Somehow, in some magical way, a mother’s heart heals yet again. The pieces go back together once more, although the heart may never be the same as it was. 

A mother’s heart may always bear the scars of loving too much, of giving more than the mother should give, or of caring so much that her own needs go unmet. But no matter how deep or how many or how raw the scars, a mother’s heart always seems to heal. It never gives up hope. And it never stops loving. 

Copyright 2009 Ann Sullivan