Ma is not my favorite endearment for mother. It sounds so “country” and “backwoodsy” and where we live is far from that. But I am called Ma by my son.
Understand, I never thought I would be a mother. I knew early on that I wouldn’t be able to have babies. I just knew. I was 30 when I found out the medical reason why. I remember my doctor bracing herself to tell this 30-year old unmarried woman that babies were not in my future. I’m sure she expected a “freak out” moment. I calmly assured her that I always knew and then I calmed her down. Coincidence or not, it was just a year later when I heard God tell me to parent this group of kids I now call my own.
Most of them don’t call me anything but Brenda. They have birth moms whom I love. Sometimes I get called “Mother” but it is usually in exasperation such as “Mother, sit there and let me take care of you.”
But one of my sons calls me Ma. And that son wrote me a letter from jail that started out, “Ma, I’m proud to be called son by you…” Proceeded by this verse from Proverbs 10:1 – “A wise son makes a glad father, but a foolish son is the grief of his mother.”
This is first contact after a quick downward turn that led to 20 days as a fugitive and then his umpteenth arrest, because we can’t remember how many times he has been arrested. First contact has been made. Now comes the long road to healing and the long road through the justice system again.
I hate being here again. The pain is still pretty deep. It’s hard for me to see any hope yet. I love Dr. Brene’ Brown’s definition of hope: Hope is Plan B. I plan on writing a lot about that definition here on Bravester. But as of now, I can’t find Plan B because the pain is too present.
I promise I will not numb this pain. Because this I know, bravery means we can write our own daring endings. My son’s life and my life deserve a daring ending.
As of now I know the story is moving forward. Healing is starting. Love will win. And this will be one of the great love stories ever. Because I am called Ma.