The Importance of Being Mothered

December 19th, 2007 by Margit Novack

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I often think back to the last time I was mothered by my mother. It was thirty-two years ago, and I was twenty-five years old. My mother had been hospitalized for over eight months with a condition that today would be handled on an outpatient basis, but this was before outpatient IV therapy was in practice. This would not have changed the outcome of her illness, however; we knew from the outset that time was limited.

For months I had visited my mother every day after work, had taken care of insurance matters, had quarterbacked her medical issues. I was young, but I grew up fast.

I will always remember my twenty-sixth birthday. I was involved in a disastrous relationship with a man who treated me badly—he wasn’t abusive, but he simply didn’t provide the commitment for which I yearned. I remember walking into her hospital room that evening.

“Hi honey,” she said. “How was your birthday?” I burst out crying.

“It was horrible. He didn’t get me anything, not even a card. I hate myself for wanting him when he gives me so little.”

I poured my heart out to her, and she held me and I was comforted. I don’t remember what she said, only that I felt loved and taken care of. For months I had been the responsible daughter, handling everything for her, but not that night. I was hurting and it felt wonderful to be mothered.

A month later, my mother was dead. That birthday evening was the last time I was mothered by my mother and I will never forget it or how it felt. There was an intense feeling of vulnerability and protectiveness that I have seldom allowed myself to feel to that degree since. I also knew, on some deep level, that that evening was a gift to my mother as well. For months she had been “the patient” —she had been dependent on others, and had been taken care of by medical personnel and by her children. As much as I treasured being mothered, I know how important it must have been to her to feel like a mother.

So it surprised me, thirty years later, when I felt this same feeling again. I was talking on the phone to my ninety-year-old mother-in-law, whining about how stressed I was by work.

“I knew you must be busy when I didn’t hear from you,” she said. I was embarrassed at the obvious truth—I hadn’t called her for several weeks, and she so looked forward to our conversations.

“I’m sorry,” I sighed. “I should have called...I’ll be over this weekend for a visit.”

“I don’t care about your visit, “she said. “I’m just upset that you are under so much stress.” Although she couldn’t see it on the phone, I started to cry. Here I was a mother and grandmother myself, and yet the feeling of being taken care of, of being mothered, was...exquisite. It satisfied some deep, essential yearning within me that I hadn’t even known existed.

The feeling was over quickly, as perhaps all feelings of that intensity are, but I remember it still. What an indescribable feeling it is to be mothered.


Margit Novack is President of Moving Solutions®, a national move management firm, and of eSMMART, a Web-based training center for individuals who work with older adults.

Posted in: Dealing with Grief & Guilt, Inspirational Memoirs, Memoir