Two cheeseburgers and a biggie fry. That was my Mother’s Day meal this year. A meal bought for me by my son -- and one of the best meals I have ever had.

Our son, Michael is our oldest child, and like many children who are first in line, he was the rebellious one.

Michael was born the most beautiful baby a mother could want, and being a young and naive mother, I believed in a formula -- that I could give him plenty of love, guidance and discipline, along with a healthy dose of prayer, and he would one day rule the world.

I was completely unprepared for the fact that he would buck all our rules. Despite having a brilliant mind, Michael would slough through high school and refuse to attend college. Michael would, in time, break most of the rules and along with them my heart.

Michael, the child I thought was brought to me on angels’ wings, would grow to hate me for the values I tried to instill and the rules I tried to enforce. Our relationship grew strained. Those were hard years, full of questions. While my husband and I never doubted that we had done our best, we lived in fear that our best efforts would be in vain.

Years went by while we prayed and hoped for some sign of the son we knew -- some sign that the love we invested in him was not wasted.

As time passed, I came to see that, thankfully, my worst fears for my son would not materialize. As we were forced to step back, allowing him to accept the consequences of his decisions and learn from them, we have also begun to see him grow.

Michael married young and three children soon followed. His young family struggled financially. We offered assistance when we could, but the wall that was erected through years of struggle and resentment remained in place.

Michael is 29 years old now. While he still struggles financially, for now he is self-sufficient. His children are smart and healthy and his marriage has lasted 7 years. He uses his skills for auto repair to run a fledgling business.

And this past weekend, for the first time in years, he came bearing gifts for Mother’s Day. Balloons, a bottle of wine and some chocolates. Then in a hesitant voice he said to me, "Mom, have you eaten? I can buy a burger or Taco Bell or something like that."

For a minute, hearing clearly that he didn't have much money, I was tempted to decline. But I quickly realized that what my son was offering was more than fast food. It was a sacrifice he wanted to make for me. A sacrifice that said I still love you, I still honor you, and I thank you for what you have done for me.

So he bought the burgers and the biggie fries. I did not ask why he didn't buy food for anyone else. I didn't offer to chip in on the tab. I accepted his Mother’s Day meal as proudly as any mother at any fancy restaurant. And for the first time in a long time, the pride I felt in him was mirrored in his eyes.

Later that night I called my son to again say thank you for the food. Thank you for the love. Thank you for finally coming home.
***
D. Barbara McWhite grew up in York County, S.C., and lives in Orange Park, Fla., with her husband and cat. Her column is published here each Tuesday.

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