I spend a lot of time writing about Alzheimer’s and how it affected my dad, my family, and our lives. We’ll get back to that topic, but today I want to shift gears since we just celebrated Mother’s Day. I hope everyone had a wonderful Mother’s Day. I celebrated with brunch at the house with all my people, and it was almost perfect. Still, it’s always a little bittersweet for me. I lost my mom in 2008, and she never got to meet my nephew or my granddaughters. She didn’t see my boys graduate from high school or college, and she has no idea that I wrote a book—which, by the way, she would have been my biggest fan of, probably annoyingly so.
My mother was a force. She was feisty, sassy, smart, funny, opinionated, and sometimes a little scary. Not in a bad way, but in the kind of way that made me know exactly what was expected—and know there would be consequences if I didn’t meet it. And trust me, there was no negotiating for a lighter sentence. She was tough. She went back to college in her 40s and finally graduated from Oklahoma State in 2000. That wasn’t easy: one or two classes at a time, plus a full-time job, raising two daughters, and still keeping up the home. And somehow, she still made it to church every Sunday and Wednesday. She didn’t make excuses—she just took care of things.
I don’t remember exactly when she got the diagnosis, but I think I was in high school: Polycystic Kidney Disease (PKD). It wasn’t good news, but it also wasn’t a surprise. Her own father had passed away from the disease in 1967. She didn’t cower or worry—she faced it head-on. There is no cure, there is no treatment; it stalks quietly until one day it’s simply there. At first, nothing changed. The only difference was that now she knew she had the disease and could stop wondering if. Somewhere around 2002, the doctor told her it was time to discuss options: start dialysis or look for a kidney donor. She was officially sick. Her response? “I don’t feel sick.” But her blood work said otherwise. I offered her a kidney, and she declined, arguing that my children needed me more than she needed a kidney. Then my sister offered, and Mom accepted. The testing and blood work began, and soon the day had come. Was my sister scared? Probably. Did my daddy worry? One hundred percent. Was my mother the rock she had always been? Of course. For the most part, the transplant was a success. She had a few rough spots, but she never complained. I never heard her ask, “Why me?” or feel sorry for herself. She was never anything but positive, full of faith, and confident that our God still does miracles. She got six more years with us, finally passing away in 2008. And on days when I feel like it is unfair, I’m reminded of her attitude and her approach to the most unfair situation. I’m thankful for the time I got with her, even though it was cut short. I got quality over quantity, and although I miss her dearly, I wouldn’t trade having her as my mom for anyone else.
So if you’re like me and missing your mom, and this past weekend felt bittersweet, hang in there. Maybe cook her favorite recipe or tell someone your favorite memory of her. And if you’re lucky enough to still have your mom around, give her a call.
Thank you, Mama, for everything. Love you.
