I was born nearly 55 years ago in a wonderful town to unbelievable parents. Though my father received most of the attention and recognition, it was my mother who was without a doubt the glue which held our family together. And while my experience (and my sisters') may have been particularly special, in the final analysis, my mother didn't love me any more than nearly all mothers love their children. It is common on mother's day to write of the great things your mother did, and I certainly could do just that. In fact, these feelings are captured in an essay I wrote many years ago which is at the end of this essay. But suffice it to say that I had an incredible mother and that has had more to do with my success, probably, than any single item.
Early in my career as a pediatrician I remember reading an article on the prognosis for children with Down Syndrome. It turns out that, at least in this study, the SINGLE MOST predictive factor for how a child with Down Syndrome would do was the level of maternal education. The more educated the mother, the better the child would do (cognitively). I'm not sure if future studies have borne this out or not, but a few words on this are needed. You see, the education of the mother is only part of the story, because simply having an advanced degree does miraculously change the fate of the child. But, it does increase the chance that you will be married, will live in a higher socio-economic class, have insurance, access to care and services, and in my opinion, though not addressed 
in this study, be ABLE to stay at home. My mother had a college degree; in fact she was the first WOMAN from her high school (Bourbon County High), to graduate from college (or so the story goes, I cannot verify this but that is what I was told). Mom's degree was in home economics...a desperately needed skill set in today's frantic world. She could have worked, but chose to stay home and raise my sisters and me. Make no mistake about it, I am all for women working if they choose, and should they choose to work, they must be treated equally and fairly in the workplace. But guess what? It's okay to NOT work, if you have the resources. One of the happiest days of my life was when Sharon asked me to meet her for dinner at a small Greek restaurant near one the hospitals I staff. Halfway through dinner, she told me she wanted to quit her job and raise our family! Sharon was/is a highly skilled nurse and administrator and was being paid quite well. Had she continued working, our finances might be different....our children would absolutely be different. And before anyone gets upset with me, I absolutely know, understand, and respect why many women work. Some must; some choose to; some want to...each is fine. I have so much respect and admiration for women who work and many of them pull amazing feats of time management. My mother and my wife chose (because it was an option) to not work and to concentrate solely on raising the family. Other models are successful for other women/families; I write of only that which I have lived.
I have watched so many wonderful mothers in my life....not only those in my world, including my sisters and extended families, but also those of my patients. I have watched mothers bring children into the world and have unfortunately been there when mother's say good bye to their child and hold them for the last time. I have seen pretty much everything in between the Alpha and the Omega of life. I have cared for children born into unbelievable wealth and unthinkable poverty. The one thing that remains constant is the unmatched love for a mother for her child. We men may think we know something about love, but women know this at an unapproachable level. To all the Mothers, those near, far, here, and departed, for all they have done to make this a better world, I give you my sincerest thanks. Whatever hope the future has will find its seeds in the mother's love.
Embryonics
John D. Rowlett, MD (Johnny)
2003
Their beginning was simple enough; a few cells migrate, divide, divide again, organize, migrate, and divide— all to the silent beat of a predetermined embryonic code. At birth they were inevitably counted, inspected, and gently washed. Early they held fingers, bottles, crackers and the best donuts the world has ever known. As they grew, the objects of infants and toddlers were replaced by kittens and trees, by friends and adventures. They guided pencils and scissors and led the journey of a vast new world. And what a world—it was one of success as a daughter and sister, as a student and friend.
When finally she left home, they carried the reminders that would accompany her next. They held books, bolts of cloth, and finally, him. Though perhaps they once held another, it was he whom they have held for nearly fifty years.
In time, there were children of her own requiring a whole new set of tasks. These faithful companions found dishes and diapers, laundry and love. They were baseball pitchers, dress and costume makers, butchers, bakers, and even candlestick makers. They were homework helpers, runaway dog catchers, and most of all, friends. When my the world grew harsh or cold, it was they who kept me warm and protected. When I cried, they held me; when I was ill they cared for me. They were always there, not just for me, but seemingly for all those in need.
They’ve grown much older. The encasing skin is wrinkled, the once limber joints now occasionally sluggish. But grandchildren, including the one who calls me “Daddy my Daddy,” flock to them as if they held the answers to the world. And I guess they do. They have not lost their magic; they hold these children with the same gentleness as those preceding.
