Sherani Theophilus, Times Chronicle

We are collectively celebrating mothers this weekend and once again I am reflecting on my role as a daughter and a mother. I consider myself very fortunate. I have my mother still around and my children are very close to me.

My son has already warned me that I may not receive a gift this Sunday. He said that he doesn’t really need anything so it’s hard for him to imagine what someone may want. He’s home from college and I told him what I would be thrilled by is for him to help around the yard, and carrying water refills up the stairs. Doing the dishes would seem priceless! No flowery expressions of gratitude required. I told him a hug goes a long way.

I love the fact that he’s not into things. It made me wonder, what do we really need?

We just need to matter.

I’ve just started taking a Nsyilxcn course and I am very excited to get a name in the language in my second class. In this course there is at least one student who has had their life interrupted by a residential school.

So many children were forced to give up the beautiful name that their mother lovingly chose for them. So many losses. So much pain. Those who survived (and we know thousands did not) were taught that they did not matter, that the teachings of their elders were to be erased. The tearing apart of one’s sense of self is the monumental obstacle all these survivors and their families are trying to overcome with grace, open arms, and a connection to the community.

It’s an honour to be a witness to people reclaiming their names and speaking their language. I am humbled by how open and unquestioning my teachers have been. In my years as a brown immigrant, I have usually had to justify why I am “at the table.”

It’s a daunting task to learn a new language (I only feel secure with English) but I own a home here on the lands of the Sylix Okanagan nation and it seems proper for me to learn as much as I can about where I am lucky enough to live.

I may fail this time, but I am determined to keep learning. I learned that lesson from being a mother. You fail miserably sometimes but you learn, and you do better the next time. 

To the moms who have lost a child, I cannot imagine the grief. To anyone who has lost their mother, I hope you have beautiful memories to cherish.

To all those who had a mother who couldn’t meet your needs, I hope you have found your own way. To all the moms getting handmade cards, and getting breakfast in bed, I celebrate vicariously through you! Have a mimosa for me.

Cheers!