My Mom

Yesterday I bought a Mother's Day card for my mom. As Sunday approaches, I find myself thinking a lot about my mom and what I've learned from her, and continue to learn from her. When I was growing up, I definitely didn't see her for who she truly is -- I'm not sure if children have the ability to see their mothers as real people. She really never sat down when were were young. She was a nurse for forty years, and in our early school years she worked the night shifts so she could be there to pick us up and spend time with us in the afternoons. There was a home-cooked meal on the table every night, unless she was ill, and I have no memory of my mom ever being sick when I was a kid. She also took great pride in our house -- the kitchen was never left with dishes in the sink, the bathrooms were scrubbed clean, the beds always made first thing in the morning. I remember her packing our lunches each night, folding never-ending piles of laundry, and even doing my older brother's paper-route for him when he wasn't able. I rarely recollect my mother relaxing.

During the teenage years, we battled. Like her, I was headstrong and determined. If I set my mind to do something, I did it (and I didn't always set my mind to do positive things at that age). I didn't realize that she had passed along such a powerful trait until much later in life. We made it through my teens but with a lot of arguing and plenty of standoffs. When I went away to college, I finally had a chance to see my mother in a different light. As I became more independent and more mature, I began to identify more with her. Living out of the house meant living away from the rules and high standards I associated with my mother. I was finally free to make my own decisions and, inevitably, I didn't always make the right ones. As a result, our conversations started to take a turn. I confided in her when I fell in love or was heartbroken. I asked her advice when I had troubles in my friendships. The older I got, the more I respected her opinion and sought her approval.

I believe I only fully saw who my mother really was when I became a mother. I can understand now why she wanted to protect me and guard me from all the evils of the world. The petty arguments, which seemed so monumental at the time, were sparked from fear and worry. I look at my mom today and see how much she has accomplished in sixty-five years and I can't help but be awe-stricken. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer almost two years ago, she didn't slow down or wallow in self-pity. It isn't who she is. I imagine a mastectomy can really take a toll on a woman's self-esteem, but my mom always kept a positive attitude and never let cancer control her outlook. She scheduled chemo for Thursdays so she could get through the worst of it during the weekends and be back at work on Mondays. I never once saw her still lounging in her pajamas at noon. Everyday she took great pride in her appearance, as usual. She put her makeup on, and curled her hair. And when she lost her hair, she took the same pride in styling the wigs she wore. When her clothes became too big, she bought new ones that made her feel confident.

Those who know my mom know that she gives without a thought of receiving; she is the epitome of selfless. She takes care of everyone around her -- almost to a fault -- and gives extra special attention to my father, the love of her life.

On Saturday I will be joining my mother in the Revlon Walk for Women, which raises funds to fight women's cancers. I'm always proud of her, but I'm especially proud at this moment in life because of all she has achieved and all that I know she has left to achieve. I'm lucky to take after her in many ways, especially when it comes to our mutual drive. I hope that I can look back at sixty-five and say that I've used that trait to service others the way my mother has.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.