Mother

I Bet my Dad can beat up your Dad….

At least, that’s what we used to say when we were kids. But the truth is no one is better than Mom. Moms know how to fix special blankets. Moms can fix broken teddy bears, and help us with skinned knees. They stop pain, they fix runny noses, and they tuck us in at night.

Moms never leave, and of course, there’s nothing like Mom’s cooking. There is nothing like Mom’s cinnamon toast on a snowy day with a cup of hot chocolate, and there is no one like Mom when it comes to finding something lost.

Dads cannot function without moms. This is true. The house falls apart when Mom is sick because Moms aren’t supposed to get sick. But unfortunately, they do.

We may not always do the right thing or say the right words. But no one forgives like Mom. No one cheers as loud. No one loves as hard. And in the end, no one is as strong.

I can fix broken pipes. I can check the oil on the car and I can take garbage to the curb. I can earn a living, but I cannot do what Mom does…

I was hospitalized when I was eight years old. My bed was next to a large window with yellow curtains that opened to a view of the golf course. My left arm was connected to an intravenous needle, which led to fluids on a tall rod-like contraption. And wherever I went…so did this contraption.

Attached to it was a monitor that constantly beeped. I remember the tiny green lights and stick-figure numbers. I also remember each time I fell asleep, the nurse woke me up to stop the beeping.

I recall the nurses checking the needles in my arm. I also recall my Mother was in the room at all times. She never left to go home. Instead, she had someone bring a change of clothes. She’d wash somewhere in the hospital, but only if and when I slept. And so long as my eyes were open, she never left my side. Not once.

I was sick. I was unable to keep food down. I was uncomfortable and tired. I underwent different tests, and each test was more frightening than the one before it. But throughout this time, my Mother was there. She was there for all of my tests, but one.

I was told she could not be in the room because of the radiation.

But I was only eight years old. I didn’t know what radiation was. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. All I knew is I wanted to go home.

After being placed on the gurney and wheeled off to another test, my Mother promised me a gift.

“I’m going to get you something special,” she told me. “Just be a good boy, and I will be here when you get back.”

When I came back to the room, there was a stuffed animal on my bed. It was a small Bengal tiger with sweet brown eyes, opened arms, and a green shirt that said, “I’m a little Tuffy.”

……There is a place in my house I call The Writing Room. I have bookshelves with books on them. I have pictures and small trinkets of memories to keep me going when times are tough. I have a small cactus, a bamboo plant, and to my left, on the shelf just above my head, I have a small stuffed animal with sweet brown eyes, opened arms, and a green shirt that reads, “I’m a little Tuffy.” This is the only thing I kept of my childhood.

I write this to you….

I write this to a Mom about to undergo her own procedure, and furthermore, I write this to confirm your strength.

So don’t be frightened. You’re a Mom, like my Mother was to me, and that means you can do anything.

Keep in mind, even the Son of Man came into this world through the womb

…….and that alone makes you stronger than anyone