Today I turned 49 at 9:30 am. Every year I remember the story my mom told me about when she went into labor. My mom was not only the best mom, but she was also the best wife. As far back as I can remember, my mom would pick out my dad’s clothes for the morning and make sure that once he was dressed, a hearty breakfast was waiting for him. She did this 7 days a week (well, she didn’t need to pick out his clothes on the weekend – dad could throw together a run-down t-shirt and jeans to work outside). On June 30, she forgot to grab the grape jelly for his toast. As she grabbed the jelly, she felt her water break and she dropped the jelly. Only a few hours later, mom delivered wee little me. I had blue eyes and white hair – very different than my sisters who have dark hair and brown eyes. The story always differed whether it was my mom telling the story or my dad telling the story – but what stayed true for both stories is that I was supposed to be “Michael Joseph”. So when the Dr said “It’s a girl”, they had to think of a different name, so they went with Michelle Ann. So here I am.
Reminiscing that story, reminds me of my mom and her strength. My mom was the strongest person I knew. The strength it took for my mom to be my dad’s wife was not for the weak. Expectations were high and if she didn’t meet them, she heard about it. I’m not trying to paint the picture that they had a bad marriage, because they didn’t. My parents loved each other deeply in a way that I could never understand, but I didn’t need to. My mom went from being a wife, to a mother, to a housewife, to a special needs teacher, to working a 9-5 job all the way up until she passed. My mom loved to work and never complained. She was so proud to have a 401k, proud to have her own spending money and when she got a raise, even as little as a $.10 raise, she was so excited and appreciated it. She saw the good in everyone and no matter what, she just focused on being a good employee. Dad on the other hand, all I can remember is he hated working and every day he came home my mom had to hear all about it. She just listened, never offering any advice because it would not be the right thing to say.
My mom taught me strength. She taught me how to carry through tasks that were given despite how you feel. She taught me how to take care of others, even when it was hard. She taught me the importance of waking up and being the best version of yourself. She taught me how to appreciate the small things. She taught me that it was ok to cry, even though I didn’t see her cry often. My mom was the best. She went through a lot in the short 63 years she was here.
You probably are appreciating hearing about my mom but wondering where I am going with this. I learned how to have a giving heart and caretaking attitude from her. She was the first person I took care of. The strength within me comes from her. That same strength is what peaks behind the fear I have with this new life. I could never be as strong as her, but I thank her for teaching me how important it is for a little girl to an adult woman to find inner strength during difficult times. I was a caretaker to my family, friends and strangers. It was a part of my DNA. I didn’t expect that one day I would be the one who is being taken care of.
My mom has been gone for 13 years, December 16th of this year. My dad has been gone 3 years, June 9th. The strength my mom gave me and the stubborn attitude my dad gave me is what feeds my will to continue trying so hard. I never could have predicted not having parents at 49 and I certainly didn’t predict I would be paralyzed at 48. I miss both my parents like crazy and often cry out to them because I don’t know how to navigate this life. It is those moments that I remember how loved I was and how proud both of them were of me and I know they still are as they watch over me.
Happy birthday to me and thank you mom and dad for the life I was blessed to have.
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