She Called Me Mama

Today was the first day that EmiliaToday Emilia called me Mama for the first time. And I don’t mean that she just articulated two random syllables, but that she used the word deliberately, conscious of who sshe meant: me. My heart skipped a beat when it happened because Mama in my family is a term of utter love and admiration.

For as far back as we know in my own Mama’s family, four generations of women have been called Mama by their children. Not Mutter or Mutti, but Mama which is so much more gentle and adoring. And these women to me have all been role models of strength, courage, and dedication. Between them, they survived two world wars, starvation and typhoid. Some became widows at young ages. They worked as cooks and servants and field hands. They were displaced by war and lost all their possessions, including their house which was burnt to the ground during battle. One suffered repeated physical abuse from her in-laws and another was denied a college education on the grounds that her voice was too quiet. They lived through half a dozen different regimes on German soil and used at least as many different currencies within ever-changing borders.

Left to right:

My Oma Margarete Lange

My Uroma Emma Krueger

My Great-Aunt Elsbeth Rex

(after all of whom our children are named)

A favorite picture of mine of my Mama

Despite it all, between the four of them, they raised ten daughters and two sons, me included, with selfless, loving guidance and devotion. Each of these children even as adults adore(d) their Mamas and reflect(ed) their upbringing in their life choices. Today my little Emilia in their choices. Today my daughter called me Mama and I will do whatever I can to prove myself worthy of the name, worthy of being added to this line of incredible women who came before me and whose examples will influence my own path of motherhood.