To My Mother

I can remember, as a child, sitting in my mother’s lap, as her melodic voice washed over me. The words from the page of the book would transform into pictures in my mind. I can remember the days when there would be little notes in my lunches with “I love you!” swept across the page in her beautiful half cursive. I can remember, as a child recovering from surgery, the warmth as she would massage lotion into my feet and tell me how much I was loved. I can remember her crying as she confronted cancer and the reality that she may not live to see me married. My mother is so much more than the woman who brought me into the world; she is my mentor, my comfort, and my inspiration. I feel like Maya Angelou when she said “"To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power” but I still hope that today, on her birthday, that I can add my appreciation and admiration to those people whose lives she has touched.

I can remember, the days when I thought having bookshelves lining all the walls in the house was normal. Hosea Ballou said “Education commences at the mother's knee”. My mother never pushed or prodded us to h ave that desire to do well in school, but perhaps without even knowing, she instilled a love of learning in my heart. That love has carried me through years of school and will continue for the rest of my life. If the moon could be unconscious of the effect it has on the waves, my mother would be the moon and the waves my reaction to life.

I can remember the nights that I stared down at the peas on my plate of life and decided that I simply could not eat them anymore. Those peas would be the end of me. So I would meander on into the dining room where my compassionate mother was e-mailing one of her children, or maybe looking up a new recipe online. Without saying anything I would drag up a chair next to her and rest my head in her lap. Like a patient sage she would ask if there was something I wanted to talk about while she stroked my hair back from my face. I needed nothing more, my heart found a safe harbor while it rested from the storms of life.

I can’t forget the second time that my mother was diagnosed with Cancer. She received a phone call and I was the only one home with her when she heard the news. Our tears flowed freely; I wasn’t confused because I knew that Chemotherapy has been the worst thing she has ever faced. Knowing that she would have to endure the agony again would be unbearable. As I tried to comfort her, she surprised me; through her tears she choked a simple sentiment that has impressed itself on my mind and heart. She said “I don’t want to put you through this again.”***

In her darkest moment, she was concerned about me. I would be hard pressed to find a better example of Christ like love. In her own Gethsemane she was more concerned about the welfare of her children. James E. Faust said he believed that, “there is no greater good in all the world than motherhood. The influence of a mother in the lives of her children is beyond calculation”. My mother’s faith in that time of trial has surpassed anything I have seen so far in my life. Her unwavering belief that everything would be okay, has given me hope and strength on my darkest days. I can always look to my mother; I don’t need a famous scientist, a prolific writer or some conqueror of old. No, my mother is my hero, my mentor, my comfort and my inspiration.

I found this on my computer. I wrote it as an assignment for my speech class a little over a year ago, and I want to put on my blog. I hope you enjoyed it!