You know this whole being a mom thing? It’s pretty freakin’ awesome. I don’t know if its looking into the eyes of a child and seeing part of yourself looking right back at you. Or maybe it’s the fact that my son could be having a very bad day- I just fix him some ‘special milk’ (chocolate milk) and he thinks I walk on water. He looses his beloved Blanky and when I find it for him, he thinks it’s magic. We just have this amazing connection, my son and I do. I would like to think that most mothers and their little ones also share this unbelievably strong bond like Nathan and I do.
I remember feeling the same way about my mother. When I felt bad, her comforting presence was enough to help make me feel better. Tomorrow is her birthday. She has been gone for two years and two months. Its easy to remember because she passed away a few days before my son was born. However old Nathan is, I just add on a few days and that’s how long it has been. I miss her.
I can’t imagine being on my death bed and not being able to see my son one last time. I saw her last when I was 7 months pregnant. She did not tell me that she was in the last throes of a loosing battle with cancer metastasis. At 36 weeks pregnant, she suffered a stroke from a cluster of brain tumors. Still being on bed rest with a high risk delivery scheduled for a little under 2 weeks from that day, I was not able to travel to see her. I considered going anyways. The day after seriously contemplating how I was going to get down there to her side, at almost 37 weeks pregnant, I went into labor yet again. They stopped the contractions, put me on bed rest, and sent me home with contraction medication to get me through the rest of the week until my complicated c-section was scheduled. She passed away a few days later. I wish I could have seen her to tell her goodbye. I wish I could have given her some of the comfort that she gave to me whenever I wasn’t feeling well growing up.
She survived for many years following a diagnosis of stage IV aggressive cancer. For those who are unfamiliar with cancer-speak, stage IV is the absolute last thing you ever want to hear a doctor telling you. Stage IV is typically when they go ahead and let you know how many months you have left. My mom kicked butt though. She heard Stage IV, then pretty much gave it the finger and went on to see many more years worth of life before it finally did her in. She danced, she loved, she hurt, she cried, yet through it all she rocked her cancer treatments in her red leather coats and stylish blond wigs. She stood on her rock-solid faith, leaned on loved ones when she grew too tired to stand on her own, and she prevailed.
When I look in the mirror, I see part of her looking right back at me. I inherited some of her expressions and our eyes are similar. It is also these traits that I see in my son. My mom is gone, yet parts of her live on in my son and I. I am old enough to see that while she did not walk on water so to speak, she is still nothing less than a miracle. She taught me how to be strong and keep going. When I am seriously tired and ready to give up, I think of all that she went through with her cancer and I keep going. You see, her fighting spirit was so strong that it even keeps a whole other person, me, going to this day.
So…Happy Birthday to one of the most stylish, outrageous, unbelievably strong woman I have ever known.