Strength stares me in the face
I am nothing like my mother.
She is relatively short and petite, with coarse blonde hair, bright green eyes, and a really obsessive drive to clean (dust, polish, wash, sweep, etc.) I, on the other hand, am tall and large, with thick almost-black hair, deep-set black eyes, and the organizational abilities of a four-year-old.
I am sure this is largely because I am adopted. :-P
But all joking aside, she is my mother. The only one I've ever known. And for all the bickering we did when I was a teenager, I now realize it's because I'm very much like her. I'm stubborn about the same things, I'm just as possessive, and sometimes I hate the thought that, "Gee, this is sooo what my mother would do." It drives me crazy!
I have a lot for which to thank my mom. She taught me to read when I was three, she started my piano lessons that same year, she took me to swimming lessons and T-ball practice and storytime with Miss Ann at the library. She even quit her job for 10 years to raise me -- and don't think that sacrifice is lost on me.
But there's another reason I admire my mom. She's so strong, even when I feel weak. When I'm crying, she cries, too. When I need support, she listens. And I know she prays for me (and Paul and my therapist and my coworkers ... and everyone else around me) every day.
Six years ago, Mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 melanoma. Today marks the 5th anniversary of her remission. Her dermatologist says she's in the clear. We're having a party, but I don't think I'm going to be able to choke out the words I really want to say: Thank you for still being here, especially now. Thank you for being yourself and sacrificing yourself and giving of yourself to make me who I am. And thank you for taking me in. You're the only mother I've got, and I'll always love you.
Someday, when I'm not so secretive about this blog, I'll show her this and she'll cry, and I'll cry. But not tonight. Tonight we celebrate five years of strength. Five years that proves to me that if I, too, can be strong and overcome this pain that seems to be choking the life out of me.
Did I say I was nothing like my mother? Yes. But I'm becoming more and more like her every day.
Love you, Mom. <3
5 Comments:
That's so sweet. [cue: awww] Glad to hear that she's doing well.
This post has been removed by a blog administrator.
That's exactly what I was going to say (what Lauren said, not what you said. I don't know your mother well enough to say what you said.) So yes "That's so sweet. Glad to hear that she's doing well."
(Didn't mean to remove the comment. It looks so sinister: This post has been removed by the author. It's like the caller ID of the blogging world.
Dang! Great minds think alike...
Me was going to say...
That am sooooo sweet! Me am glad hear you mom doing better now.
That am freaky. Kate, you give mom big bearhug from Monstee... or just bite her if you mood have changed.
Would you prefer, "This waste of space brought to you by smacky"?
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