Sometime in the womb, as we evolve over months from a single-celled organism into the complex mass of neurons and flesh we recognize as ourselves, an awareness of our place in the world emerges. The world as we begin to know it is a warm, liquid soup, filled with nutrients, one enveloped in a thin translucent film.
The steady drum of a heartbeat just outside the womb begins to set the pace of your own fledgling heart. An umbilical cord connected directly to our tiny bellies pipes in nourishment fueling our rapid growth.
And then in a sudden moment that ideal world comes crashing to an end. The pain and travail of our mother’s struggle seems like a banishment from the land of milk and honey to a harsh, cold world. Our lungs struggle to breathe as our eyes adjust to the blinding light of the world outside. In that moment, we must truly believe we have died, for the world we have known our entire lives up to that point has been torn from us — never to return. As in William Shakespeare's "King Lear," "When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools." We strikeout in a blind fury at having been kicked out of paradise.
As infants, we cling closely to our mothers, literally drawing from her own life force like a battery charging from a wall-socket. We learn the world through her eyes. Her smell, her smile, her very presence becomes the blanket we seek against a world we do not know and cannot survive on our own. This deep attachment does not end, no matter how old we get and how many conquests we achieve.
And so, it is no wonder that we return to our mothers again and again during life. As young children, we hide behind her skirts when other kids are being mean to us, or when we find ourselves in the company of strangers. We run to her and cry the first time we fall down while playing and scuff our knee.
And every time this happens, she is there to reassure us, to mend our fingers or soothe our bruised hearts. Even as we mature in life we find ourselves constantly returning to the feeling of security and warm and unconditional love that only a person born of her own flesh can offer.
Amid the gnawing doubts we suffer in our early adult lives, not knowing for sure whether we are equipped to confront a world in which there are rarely easy answers, amid the complexities of relationships, education, business and public life. We return again and again to the primal comfort of our mothers.
While it is often said that we inherit at least half of our genes from our fathers, the nurturing care of our mothers, her flesh and blood, literally give us life.
My father taught me the virtues of work and industry. Those instilled values have given rise over the years to my public persona. My mother, who was equally hard working, taught my siblings (and taught me) the importance of nurturing our physical and spiritual bodies. We inherited our Christian faith from her.
Those values have given rise to an unshakeable inner strength that has undergirded my soul, giving me confidence and comfort in times of turmoil.
The Scriptures command us to honor our mothers and fathers. This age old wisdom seems only natural and a matter of common sense. It is right and proper that we honor those without whom we would not enjoy the blessing of life. I have striven my entire life to live up the values and ethics exemplified by my parents. They were and are to this day my most cherished role models.
But my mother was so much more than that. She was also one of my closest friends. We talked every morning by phone, before the sun rose, and often prayed together. This routine has become so deeply ingrained in my daily life — until she passed away on April 7 on the eve of her birthday. She would have been 91.
We never went a day without communicating several times daily by phone, and that in a sense it has become the steady heartbeat which constantly paces my own. I knew on a conscious level that when she passed it would be difficult for me to fathom life in her absence. The feeling of loss, of separation, and banishment I must have felt at birth now returns. Over the past month since her passing, the world has literally transformed into a strange place.
Many years ago, my very wise and now deceased mother pulled me aside and reminded me that material wealth, while it may seem important to me in my youth, were not nearly so important as the memories created for family and friends. That is one's greatest legacy.
Such grief and sadness knowing my life and relationships have changed forever. Just a difficult time emotionally. Truly have never felt so alone in this world.
I expect to mourn and grieve as most of us do when a loved one passes. It is only natural. But I also know that my mother prepared me for this moment. Her constant prayers are ingrained in me, to call upon whenever I need them.
While she is no longer with us in flesh, the gift of her soul is ever enduring. While mom was here on earth, she never wearied, she never wavered, until God said her work was done. But now, as King David fervently also wished, mom has been granted the wings of a dove. I imagine her fondly as she flies away to be at rest.
Armstrong Williams is the author of "Reawakening Virtues." He is a political commentator who writes a conservative newspaper column, hosts a nationally syndicated TV program called "The Right Side," and hosts a daily radio show on Sirius/XM Power 128 (6-7 p.m. and 5-6 a.m.) Monday through Friday. He also is owner of Howard Stirk Holdings Broadcast TV stations. Read more reports from Armstrong Williams — Click Here Now.
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