There is no greater good in all the world than motherhood.

The influence of a mother in the lives of her children is beyond calculation. —James E. Faust

I never knew that Mother's Day actually started as an effort to lower infant mortality.

In the 1850s, a mother named Ann Reeves Jarvis organized Mother’s Day work clubs to improve sanitary conditions for families in western Virginia (later West Virginia). Having lost several of her own children to disease, Jarvis wanted to lower infant mortality by teaching disease prevention measures.

It's next stage of development was to be a force for reconciliation and peace.

During the Civil War, these clubs tended to wounded soldiers on both sides. After the war, in 1868, Ann Reeves Jarvis organized mothers of former Union and Confederate soldiers to celebrate “Mothers’ Friendship Day” to allow the power of motherhood to mollify Union-Confederate rivalries.  

Two years later, Julia Ward Howe, the famous abolitionist, suffragette, and author of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” wrote the “Mother’s Day Proclamation,” calling mothers to unite to promote world peace. The subsequent year she promoted “Mother’s Peace Day” to be celebrated annually on June 2.

Americans in subsequent decades organized independent Mother’s Days in various localities.

After Ann Reeves Jarvis died in 1905, her daughter, Anna Jarvis, was flooded with messages of support for her mother’s work.

She decided all women needed to be honored for their sacrifices to their families and country, and she believed many women went unnoticed.

In 1908, Anna Jarvis organized the first official Mother’s Day celebration at St. Andrew's Methodist Episcopal Church in Grafton, WV on May 10.

Jarvis, however, did not attend the ceremony. Instead, she was present at a parallel ceremony in Philadelphia where she partnered with John Wanamaker, a department store owner, for a Mother’s Day celebration with thousands in attendance.

With the success of both events, Anna started a letter-writing campaign to national newspapers and politicians and created the Mother’s Day International Association to promote the cause of adding Mother’s Day to the national calendar.

She campaigned nationally and internationally, writing dozens of letters instructing supporters to wear a white carnation (her mother’s favorite flower), dine with family, take their mothers to church, or write letters to their mothers. Within a few short years, many churches, towns, and even states had started celebrating Mother’s Day annually.

Then, on May 10, 1913, Congress passed a resolution for federal officials to wear a white carnation the following day in observance of Mother’s Day.

The next year, Congress passed a law designating the second Sunday in May as Mother's Day and requesting a proclamation from the President. The following day, just six years after Jarvis had organized the first Mother’s Day, President Wilson signed the Proclamation, establishing the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day.  



The history of Mother's Day is from the website historybymail.com

This is the first Mother's Day since my mom passed away and I struggled with how to honor her if I can't visit. I know many readers are in the same situation as me, and regardless of how old you are when you lose your mother, it is still a huge loss.

I grew up strongly believing that the way I behaved said as much about my parents as about me, that even now, many of us judge parents based on how their children behave.

Since I can't visit my mother this year, except for a cemetery moment, I thought that sharing a story about her would be best. I think one of the best ways you can honor someone, living or passed away, is to credit them for what they taught you or how they directed you that contributed to who you are today.

So, while my standing joke is 'I didn't start running until I was 60, so I have 30-year-old knees' the truth is that my first race with consequences took place when I was in the eighth grade, and I still remember, like it was yesterday, the course, the finish line, and the lesson my mother imparted to me.

The First Congregational Church in my hometown had more of a variety of social functions than St. Thomas More Church where my family belonged. And at the tender age of 13 years old, I somehow became aware of an 8th Grade Dance at the fellowship hall, probably because several friends were planning to attend. In those days 'fellowship hall' was a loose translation of 'church basement'.

I had never danced before, except for square dancing in physical education in elementary school. That did not dissuade me from asking for permission to attend. It also did not dissuade my mother from rejecting the request. I think she thought I was too young to grow up that fast?

(My first day of kindergarten in Boston, she brought me across the street to the school and I ran into the building, while she stood there bawling her eyes out, maybe thinking I was too young to grow up that fast?)

Her rejection was a deal-killer on my first social event venture, but I sensed there might be room for negotiation. Sometimes, as in other families, she ceded decisions to my father, as in 'go ask your father' when she was sure he would agree with her. Because she didn't use the power of two parents to reject the request, I had hope.

I should mention that as the oldest of eight, everything was new for me, and for her and for him. There was no precedent or guideline for how old one of the kids should be to attend a Dance at the Congregational Church, or any dance at any church.

This church was about a mile and a half from our house, and I wondered if that was the reason for the rejection. We only had one car (like 99% of the town) and maybe she thought it was too late for my father or her to be driving to pick me up? Or maybe she thought it was just too late for me to be out. Or maybe she wasn't crazy about me discovering girls?

I never asked her the reason but was prepared to promise anything to be allowed to attend, even it if meant promising to be home by 10 PM as a negotiation tactic. It was successful.

My best shirt, best pants, best leather shoes were all in readiness the night of the dance. I think I did ride to the event, but don't remember if a parent or a friend's parents drove me. All I know is that I was there in time to witness the famous cliche of junior high school dances: all the boys on one side of the room, and all the girls on the other side of the room.

That's how the night started, but after a while, things loosened up. And by loosened up I mean kids started dancing. It was a church basement, and the ratio of chaperones might have been 1:2 with one adult for every two kids. They were determined that nothing inappropriate was going to happen.

I think I might have danced a fast dance or three, just mimicking other kids, since it would be decades before I would receive formal training in dance. Later in the evening I finally gathered the courage to ask a girl named Denise to dance a slow dance. It was worth the wait. After we thanked each other, I looked at my watch and realized that it was very close to 10 pm and I was going to be in big trouble in a little while.

Maybe it wasn't going to be worth the wait.

Without a word, and wearing my best shirt, best pants and best leather shoes, I exited the basement, made it out to Elm Street and took off like a bat out of hell for 27 Howard Street, a mile and a half away, and judgement day, or rather, judgement night.

• I remember mentally beating myself up for losing track of the time, although I probably blamed Denise.
• I remember wishing that I had sneakers on instead of slip-on loafers (try running in loafers sometime).
• I remember feeling totally disappointed that I would be disappointing my mom if I didn't make it back in time.
• I remember running by my church and my elementary school and running up the hill on Hayward Street and making the turn onto my street. I'm sure I was sweating and winded, because I wasn't jogging. Oh no, this was more serious, and it was an all-out sprint.

As I made the turn from Hayward Street to Howard Street, I could see our house, about 100 yards down the hill. I looked at my watch and it was 9:59 PM. When I looked up again, there was my mother standing on our front porch, looking at her watch.

As I ran that last 100 yards in full sprint mode, I remember seeing her smile by the light of the streetlight and saying something like 'I'm glad you got home safe.'

That was literally the last time she followed up on me. After that, my word was good.

I'm not sure what percentage of the trust she gave me was due to meeting my commitment of being home by 10 PM, or the fact that I arrived home winded and sweaty from the effort, I just know that I learned a lesson that night that I've carried with me to this day.

Do what you say you're going to do, and you will be considered a person with honor, and you will also be honoring those who raised you.

Thanks, Mom.