My mother was the primary earner for my family until I was about six years old. Every morning she made me breakfast, took me to school, and went to work. I know it can be emotionally draining as a social worker, but she rarely let that show. Instead, she came home and made supper, made my lunch for the next day, helped with my homework, and did all those little things that mothers do for their children. On weekends, she went grocery shopping, ran errands, did laundry and took care of all the things that pile up over the course of a week. None of this sounds heroic, but as an adult now myself, I marvel at how she was able to do it all, largely with grace and patience, and still find time for herself.
As I got older and more busy, it only got harder because instead of attending the occasional concert or awards ceremony, my parents were attending a couple of events a month. But Mom never missed one even if it meant taking time off work (Dad wasn’t so lucky). She made a point of always being there.
My mother is my best friend, occasionally my worst enemy, and always my biggest supporter. Even with 6,000 miles and 8 time zones between us, we’re still close, and I’m still amazed by all she did, and does, for me while maintaining her own unique personality and identity.