When I was in college, I was asked to write an essay about someone I really admired.
I chose my Dad.
He started his own business and it was a difficult road, but he succeeded, and I did (and still do) admire him a great deal. However, I realized recently that if I were asked the same question today, I might choose a different subject.
My mother grew up in a time when most women weren’t really encouraged to go to college, let alone pursue careers. From what I am told, my mom didn’t get the best grades in high school. When she graduated, she did get a job, but that’s what it was: a job. Not a career path. Things were different back then. Girls were expected to grow up and have families. They were expected to get married.
So she married— at 21—and worked. Then she had me. As she was raising me, she realized that one day soon I would be in school, and she would be—well, where would she be? Still at home? No, we needed her contribution financially. Then she would find ‘just another job?’ No, she decided to choose a path that would make a difference.
She decided to challenge herself and enrolled in nursing school. She applied herself, worked hard and ended up earning straight A’s! I remember I was about six years old when I attended her graduation. I was very proud of her and impressed by one of her graduation gifts: a t-shirt that read “Nurses Call the Shots!” It was a phrase that really fit her.
But it wasn’t easy. She had to work nights. She had to work weekends. She sometimes had to work holidays, like Christmas. That’s what nurses do. They help people, even when everyone else might be at home with their families celebrating.
Sometimes, it was difficult for me to understand. When she came home from the night shift, I wanted her up, with me. Sometimes, after only a couple hours of sleep, I’d make some noise, hoping she would get up (sorry, Mom!) And she would emerge, looking groggy, but awake. And she’d go about her day like the rest of us who actually had some sleep.
She’d also wake me up before school, put my hair in braids so I would look nice, and laid me back down to finish my sleep. I always had a nice lunch in my lunchbox waiting for me, usually containing a handwritten note on a napkin, telling me to have a great day or simply, “I love you.”
She did everything: worked, cooked, cleaned, took care of everybody. I never realized how hard all of her combined jobs really were until I became a mother myself. And I have it easy: I don’t work full time, I don’t work a night shift, and I’ve never worked on Christmas.
Several years ago, we were driving to the movies together. On our way, we spotted a car off to the side of the road. As we drove slowly past, we saw an older woman inside, slumped over.
Without speaking, my mom pulled over, opened the woman’s door, realized she might be having a stroke, and she kept her airway open, holding the woman’s tongue with her fingers until paramedics arrived.
Once they did arrive, she said, “Okay. Let’s go to our movie.”
“Don’t you want to wait around?” I said.
“Why?” she asked, surprised. “They don’t need me anymore.”
But what I meant was, “Don’t you want to wait around for someone to acknoweldge what you did? Get a thanks, a pat on the back? Maybe a parade?”
“Let’s go,” she said. “Or we won’t have time to get popcorn.”
My mother doesn’t need accolades or congratulations, in anything she does. But I am proud to call her my mom. And though I don’t tell her as often as I should:
I love you, Mom! You always took care of everybody, even when that meant you didn’t take the best care of yourself! Thank you for all you do! And Happy Mothers Day! Love, Erin
