Marilyn Gross

Mama. Mommy. Mom. Mother. Marilyn. My best friend.

These are the stages I’ve been through with my mom. They seem simple. All terms used to describe a well known relationship. But each one is so complex and so tailored to every stage of life I’ve been through. Each word I have used to describe or call out to my mother has been met with a response. One that has taught me so much of what I need to know in this world. These responses haven’t always been what I wanted or maybe the most perfect, but they have been what I have needed. People can say as they grow up that they no longer need people. I find this to be horribly ignorant and extremely naïve. I’ve found that the more independent I become, the more I need people. And boy, do I need my mom. Before I go into details about these wonderful terms of endearment I have used for this woman, let me tell you a little bit about my mom.

The first time you take a look at Marilyn Gross, you have to take a second look. There’s so much of her that you want to look at. First of all, she is a regulation hottie. She looks like she could walk straight out of a magazine. My mom is so beautiful it makes me sick. She’s perfect. She has blonde hair (it’s not real but.. shhhhh) the most striking green eyes, and a dazzling smile that lights up any room she’s in. If you get close enough, you touch her sun-tanned skin and it’s like silk. Sure, there are a few wrinkles and a few sunspots, but to be honest, these are the things I find the most beautiful about my mom. When I look at these sunspots I see years and years of family vacation time. I see hundreds of thousands of beloved memories and each dollar that was spent on quality time rather than clothes or jewelry or gifts.  When I look at the eye creases I see smiles, smiles that met me at the door when I came home from practices, smiles that I found in huge crowds to give me that boost of confidence. Sometimes I see a wrinkle on her forehead and I remember that her journey of motherhood hasn’t always been fun and games. She has cried for her children, she has bled for her children, she has lost for her children, she has fought for her children. But most of all I look at her hands and her knees and I see that she has done the one thing that a mother can do no matter what happens in life, no matter what bullets come your way. The one thing that, even if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman I have seen, would make her the greatest treasure. My mother has prayed for her children. Faithfully. Every day. Let me tell you that that has not gone unnoticed.

The first word I used for my mother was probably “Mama”. This word at the time held so much significance. It meant that a small part of my baby brain recognized this woman to be my comfort, my provider. My mother. My mom loved me the moment I came out. I look back at pictures and wonder how she has such a look of love on her face when all I was was a purplish screaming ball. I don’t know if Ma-ma was my first word but I’m guessing if it wasn’t, none of the other words mattered.  Soon after, my term of endearment evolved to the beloved “mommy”. This was when my mom knew for darn certain that I knew who she was. I wasn’t just babbling on and Ma-ma wasn’t just a couple of syllables. I think this is why that term is so special to mother’s. It reminds them of the time when their children cried when they left and couldn’t wait till church was over. What I remember most about my mom during these times is the phrase, “ you are my sunshine.” My mom would sing this song to me faithfully. I’d like to think, in my romantic mind, that my mother gave me my rays. Each time she sang it to me was like her sunny rays beating down upon me and causing me to shine them out also.

Then came “mom”. I’m sure this was one of the hardest transitions for her because it meant that her baby was getting older. She was “too cool” for that m-m-y at the end of the word. She heard me yell this word when I wasn’t allowed to go places and she heard me whine this word when I wanted something. But all along, the phrase that SHE always murmured was “you know where I am if you need me”. In my adolescent stage, I had a period of 2 or 3 years when sleep and I just could not agree. Each night I would be terrified to go to sleep because I was afraid of NOT sleeping. I think I willed myself to sleep so hard that it was actually counterproductive. Each night, no matter the night, no matter the early morning she had ahead she would say to me, “you know where I am if you need me”. And she was always there. About two hours into my war with sleep I would be staring wide awake at my ceiling and that phrase would echo in my head. I would make my way upstairs and tiptoe into her room. I’d stand over the bed and sometimes I would shake her awake. She would come downstairs and crawl into bed with me or put a tape on or sing to me until I fell asleep. But sometimes, I would just stand there over the bed and look at her beautiful face as she slept. Any nightmare I had would pass, and I would tiptoe downstairs again and fall asleep. 

I think the term Mother was probably the term she hated the most. I used this term when I was angry and, there were times when I was definitely angry with her. I didn’t like her rules, she didn’t like the color of my hair. For a couple of years there, my mom and I were distant. She didn’t see her little sunshine and I was constantly frustrated with the fact that I was changing into a woman and didn’t know how to mesh the two together. The "you know where I am if you need me" went from a comforting phrase in the night to a phrase she used for life. I didn't think I needed her, but she knew.  I think she told me that every night in the early years so that as I grew up, that phrase would be etched in my head and I would remember that she was there if I ever decided I needed her again. 

I think leaving for college gave me a new perspective of my parents, but especially my mom. She became Marilyn Gross. Not because she became even more distant or just an acquaintance but because I actually felt like I met my mom again. She was a real person. Not just someone to cook my meals, listen to me cry, and take care of the things I needed. I met her as a friend. I met her as a person that I WANTED to call and tell about my day, or laugh with about something. I feel like I could tell my mom anything. I can swear with my mom and she won’t say watch your mouth or slap my hand. I can talk about unmentionables with her without feeling awkward. I can ask her the hard questions that I always thought would make her doubt me.  This relationship has melted into the one I have now with my best friend. She’s my mom. I’ve learned that best friends come and go. Sometimes they’ve betrayed me. Sometimes they have frustrated me. Sometimes they talk about me. Sometimes they aren’t there for me when I need them most.  Sometimes they lead me down paths I shouldn’t go. Sometimes they forget to text or call or communicate and sometimes I do all of those things. But the one person who has NEVER in my life failed at being a best friend is my mom.  She calls me out when I need it. She supports me in everything I pursue. She loves me unconditionally.

I don’t know what I would do without my mother. Saying goodbye to her and my dad (let me tell you, I could write a book about that guy also!), the ones who have faithfully picked me LITERALLY up off of the ground every time I think I can’t go any farther, will be the hardest goodbye to say.  But the greatest thing is that I know for certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my parents will never walk away. They will never give up on me. They will never be content to let me go. And, no matter what happens in South Africa, what trouble I get into, how I change, what I learn, and who I am friends with, they will be waiting. They will want to know every detail, look at every picture, and know every person I make contact with. They want to be a part of my life, a life that I owe completely to them. J