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By now, most of the Mother's Day bouquets are starting to fade a bit and the cards adorned with flowers, birds and lace are tucked away for memory's sake. We have survived another round of honoring mothers. Some of us have aged mothers facing the challenges of compromised abilities. Others have young and spry mothers still in the prime of their lives. Many have mothers no longer with them due to death or estrangement. And some have mothers they have never known. Biology makes it clear that all of us have a mother. Sociology reminds us that the manifestation of motherhood is often murky.

My own mother was a stalwart of consistency. Her definition of motherhood was making sure all seven of her children were fed, clothed and bathed. She faithfully drove us to doctor's appointments and school activities. Church functions were never considered optional. Piano lessons were highly encouraged and sports were supported if one of us was so inclined (most of us were not).  Hard work was prized and slothfulness was considered the devil's handiwork. She and my father were a team of well-coordinated disciplinarians and woe be to the child who broke the rules.

One thing my mother was not. She was not warm and fuzzy. Her DNA made it such that hugs, smooches and "I love you, darling" were not a part of our formative years. My own daughter has witnessed my genetic disposition to the same mothering style. Despite the lack of demonstrative affection, however, I never for a second felt my mother did not love us.

As my mother slips further into the grips of dementia, I witness glimmers of her affection for her children. She lights up like a Christmas tree whenever she receives a card or call from one of her kids or grandkids. She lovingly arranges and rearranges all her photos of us. She criticizes herself for not being a better mother in her eyes and marvels at the accomplishments of her children, despite her perceived shortcomings. She listens to our heartaches and reminds us that we are going to be okay.

Once a month, I entertain the residents at her assisted living home by playing the piano for them. Often my mother fusses about a woman who complained to her that my playing was too loud. I always tell her not to worry about it. I have been playing at senior centers for twenty years and I have heard it all. Finally, she looked at me with a mother bear gleam in her eye and said, "If she says it again, I am going to tell her she can just leave and sit in the entryway until it's over." At that moment I felt a surge of overwhelming devotion. Hugs and "I loves yous" may be awkward gestures for my mother. But, criticize one of her kids and you better beware. Momma is going to do what she has to do.

Here's to the mommas of the world. May they be given gracious children.