A Mother’s Love

By Mary Saylor

As I shuffled into the Denny’s bathroom, my foot kicked the paper towel that had tumbled out of the overflowing trash can. I glanced past the water spots on the mirror and felt like a cheap watercolor hanging crooked on a faded wall. Greasy hair all wonky on the left side, cowlick stubbornly waving good morning. I smashed it down and turned away before I could think too much about being out in public looking this way. Not a single drop of makeup on, eyes crusty with fatigue, dark circles I could park a Mac truck in.

I elbow nudged the stall door open, then sank onto the stool with a heavy sigh. I rolled my shoulders, trying to work the kinks out, and smelled the stale t-shirt, the same one I had worn the night before, pizza stains and all. My teeth felt fuzzy. I ran my tongue across them and closed my eyes for a minute, trying to guess how many people had seen me between the bathroom and the gas station parking lot. 

But then I looked up. I saw a message scratched into the paint above the door.

I wish my mom loved me.

And I started to cry.

And when I came back out to wash my hands, I looked back in the mirror and thought something totally different than the cringe-worthy bash fest I had indulged in just a few minutes earlier.

This is what a mother’s love looks like, and it is beautiful.

And I remembered the past 24 hours that had led to this moment in a Denny’s bathroom.  It was the last day of Christmas break, and the kids were scattering back to their own homes. I had gotten up early, tending the grandbaby so my daughter could sleep a little longer.

Story time. Bath time. Singing time. Dancing time. Bottle time. Nap time. (For baby. It was cooking time for me.)

Feed the kids, search the house for missing socks, last-minute hugs and kisses and long goodbyes.

Then, aching tired, I drove three hours to Salt Lake so my youngest could get to the airport in time to catch his plane the next morning. Staying up late at my oldest son’s house, playing cards and laughing. One more game. One more laugh. One more hug.

Getting up early. No time for a shower. Dropping Levi at the curb. Good luck at your Naval training. I’ll pray for you every day. Wiping tears. Then starting the long trek home and pulling into a gas station with a Denny’s attached. 

As I thought about that little girl who had etched her heartache onto a bathroom wall, I thought, how do we make sure our kids know that we love them? And the Spirit whispered.  

Sometimes, a mother’s love is putting on your heels and eyelashes and going on that girls’ weekend. Christ taught that the one of the greatest commandments, second only to loving God with everything that you are, is to “love thy neighbor as thyself” (Matt. 22:39, emphasis added).  Love yourself enough to fill your glass to overflowing. Pamper yourself. Do your nails. Curl up on the couch and read a book. Go for a run. Know that one of the best gifts you can give your family is a mom who is healthy and happy and ready to serve. 

Sometimes, though, a mother’s love is emptying the glass to dust because you know that the little ones need you. And if that means greasy hair and a dirty t-shirt, then so be it. When you’re having one of those empty glass days, take a look in the mirror and be kind. 

Remind yourself that you’re looking at a Mother’s Love. 

And that there’s a little girl, somewhere out there, who wishes her mom loved her that way. 

Mary Saylor is a wife, mother, (slightly obsessive) grandmother, author, and teacher. You can find her out hiking somewhere in the mountains of Southern Utah or on her blog: www.humblewarriors.org.

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