My Mom and Other Super Heros
My mom's birthday is today. She is a 61 year old mother of three, grandmother of five. She lives with my stepfather, Dale (okay, they are not actually married but a marriage certificate is not what makes you married or related...in my heart, he is my stepfather). She is a hard-working, loving, funny and compassionate woman. She is my mother and I don't toss the word around lightly. She taught me the most important lessons of my life - two of them are how to be a mother (nothing is more valuable to me than this) and how to survive (this lesson has been put to the test and here I am).
Three years ago, Liz and I spoke with my Mom about 7:30 pm to wish her a Happy Birthday. She was grateful for the call and in a good mood and we had a nice talk. When the phone at work rang the next morning and the receptionist told me it was my sister, I was sure she was going to tell me she was in labor. My sister, Rose, was expecting her second child. Her voice was strained but I didn't consider that odd until she said the next words, "Mom is in ICU". "Okay", I said calmly. I pride myself on being able to take the bad news...it comes on a fairly regular basis. "What happened"? Rose explains Mom had chest pains, Dale took her to the hospital, and now they have her in ICU. Rose asks me, "What should I do?" "Do"?, I respond, nothing. Rose was enduring another complicated, on the high-risk side pregnancy and she needed to stay calm. "Stay where you are", I told her; "I am on my way. It's going to be fine". I headed into my Office Manager's office and tell her my Mom is in ICU and I have to go. She encourages me to stop worrying about work and think about what I need to do as logically as I can - do I need to pick Liz up at school or leave her here, should I pack a bag, pack Liz's meds, does someone need to feed our cats? Okay, I nod. Right. So I pick Liz up at school, we run home, pack what we need and we drive north. I tell Liz in the car over and over it is going to be fine, but I cry anyway. I assure her that my head knows everything will be fine, but Grammie is my Mom and my heart hurts. She nods patiently and rubs my arm, letting me know she understands.
I arrive at Rose's house and sit with her during some brutal contractions, thinking please, God, don't let her go into labor now...I can't do this on my own. I leave Liz there and drive to the hospital, walk in the ICU room just in time to see my mom in bed crying and the doctor delivering the news that she has had a heart attack. We agree to get her transferred to Catholic Medical as quickly as possible and I step outside to let my sisters and Dale know what is happening. My mom is scared and she cries and again, I tell her everything is going to be okay. The adult in me knows it will, it has to be, but the child inside is screaming and breaking apart, wondering is it really going to be okay? Later that evening, we are congregated around my Mom at Catholic Medical, except for Rose who has to stay home...there really was no other option for her; I can only imagine how difficult this time must have been for her. It's late when everyone is ready to go home, all agreeing to be back early when my mom will have surgery to place a stint. I can go home with my sister Amy and her husband Mark or I can stay with Dale, who has a room just down the street; my aunt and her friend have a room as well and that is another option. I try to tell myself it is okay to go, but I can't. My mom looks very small and very fragile in that bed and very scared and if that were me lying there, there is one person I am sure would not leave me...my Mom.
I stay and watch my mom...neither of us slept much and I was there with her when she got ready in the morning and when they came and wheeled her off to surgery. I even went to the nurses station as she had instructed and asked the nurse if she could please have a cup of coffee! No, of course, not right before surgery...but I asked the question because she asked me to. Later, I am so glad I stayed and I tell everyone in the room that the next morning...that it was the right thing for me to do.
My mom recovered, of course...note lesson above about learning to survive...I learned how to survive from her. And on January 9th, I drove her to the hospital to meet her new grandaughter, Kierstin Rose. This was the only birth in the family that my Mom and I missed; we had both been present for every other birth in our family.
I could write a hundred stories or more about times in my life when Mom has been there for me but I will sum it up like this...
Mom...is there when I need her, when I don't know I need her, when I think I don't need her, when I am beyond the point where I can even comprehend what I need, when I am stupid, when I am sad, when I am angry, when I am happy, joyous and celebrating. Mom listens to me, she advises me, she let's me know when I am not right...Mom is proud of me. She loves me for who I am; she knows me and is okay with who I am. She doens't try to change me or make me into the daughter she wants me to be. She prays with me, she smiles with me, cries with me, shouts with me and hurts with me. Over the past several years, I have often said that Mom worries more about me now than she ever did when I was a child. In bad times, when I look up, I am never surprised to see her walking towards me, arms outstretched, ready to hug me, cry with me and then to push me to get to work fixing things.
That is my Mom...Happy Birthday Mom! I love you!
 |
| Mom and Kierstin |
My mom's birthday is today. She is a 61 year old mother of three, grandmother of five. She lives with my stepfather, Dale (okay, they are not actually married but a marriage certificate is not what makes you married or related...in my heart, he is my stepfather). She is a hard-working, loving, funny and compassionate woman. She is my mother and I don't toss the word around lightly. She taught me the most important lessons of my life - two of them are how to be a mother (nothing is more valuable to me than this) and how to survive (this lesson has been put to the test and here I am).
Three years ago, Liz and I spoke with my Mom about 7:30 pm to wish her a Happy Birthday. She was grateful for the call and in a good mood and we had a nice talk. When the phone at work rang the next morning and the receptionist told me it was my sister, I was sure she was going to tell me she was in labor. My sister, Rose, was expecting her second child. Her voice was strained but I didn't consider that odd until she said the next words, "Mom is in ICU". "Okay", I said calmly. I pride myself on being able to take the bad news...it comes on a fairly regular basis. "What happened"? Rose explains Mom had chest pains, Dale took her to the hospital, and now they have her in ICU. Rose asks me, "What should I do?" "Do"?, I respond, nothing. Rose was enduring another complicated, on the high-risk side pregnancy and she needed to stay calm. "Stay where you are", I told her; "I am on my way. It's going to be fine". I headed into my Office Manager's office and tell her my Mom is in ICU and I have to go. She encourages me to stop worrying about work and think about what I need to do as logically as I can - do I need to pick Liz up at school or leave her here, should I pack a bag, pack Liz's meds, does someone need to feed our cats? Okay, I nod. Right. So I pick Liz up at school, we run home, pack what we need and we drive north. I tell Liz in the car over and over it is going to be fine, but I cry anyway. I assure her that my head knows everything will be fine, but Grammie is my Mom and my heart hurts. She nods patiently and rubs my arm, letting me know she understands.
I arrive at Rose's house and sit with her during some brutal contractions, thinking please, God, don't let her go into labor now...I can't do this on my own. I leave Liz there and drive to the hospital, walk in the ICU room just in time to see my mom in bed crying and the doctor delivering the news that she has had a heart attack. We agree to get her transferred to Catholic Medical as quickly as possible and I step outside to let my sisters and Dale know what is happening. My mom is scared and she cries and again, I tell her everything is going to be okay. The adult in me knows it will, it has to be, but the child inside is screaming and breaking apart, wondering is it really going to be okay? Later that evening, we are congregated around my Mom at Catholic Medical, except for Rose who has to stay home...there really was no other option for her; I can only imagine how difficult this time must have been for her. It's late when everyone is ready to go home, all agreeing to be back early when my mom will have surgery to place a stint. I can go home with my sister Amy and her husband Mark or I can stay with Dale, who has a room just down the street; my aunt and her friend have a room as well and that is another option. I try to tell myself it is okay to go, but I can't. My mom looks very small and very fragile in that bed and very scared and if that were me lying there, there is one person I am sure would not leave me...my Mom.
I stay and watch my mom...neither of us slept much and I was there with her when she got ready in the morning and when they came and wheeled her off to surgery. I even went to the nurses station as she had instructed and asked the nurse if she could please have a cup of coffee! No, of course, not right before surgery...but I asked the question because she asked me to. Later, I am so glad I stayed and I tell everyone in the room that the next morning...that it was the right thing for me to do.
My mom recovered, of course...note lesson above about learning to survive...I learned how to survive from her. And on January 9th, I drove her to the hospital to meet her new grandaughter, Kierstin Rose. This was the only birth in the family that my Mom and I missed; we had both been present for every other birth in our family.
I could write a hundred stories or more about times in my life when Mom has been there for me but I will sum it up like this...
Mom...is there when I need her, when I don't know I need her, when I think I don't need her, when I am beyond the point where I can even comprehend what I need, when I am stupid, when I am sad, when I am angry, when I am happy, joyous and celebrating. Mom listens to me, she advises me, she let's me know when I am not right...Mom is proud of me. She loves me for who I am; she knows me and is okay with who I am. She doens't try to change me or make me into the daughter she wants me to be. She prays with me, she smiles with me, cries with me, shouts with me and hurts with me. Over the past several years, I have often said that Mom worries more about me now than she ever did when I was a child. In bad times, when I look up, I am never surprised to see her walking towards me, arms outstretched, ready to hug me, cry with me and then to push me to get to work fixing things.
That is my Mom...Happy Birthday Mom! I love you!
 |
| Mom, Liz and Me |
I'm guessing that with the lessons she has taught you, your own daughter will have similar words to share about you as well some day :)
ReplyDeleteI can only hope so... thank you for being the first reader to comment!! Stop by again soon! :)
ReplyDelete