My Mama and I

I have always had an outstanding relationship with my mom. It's unique in the sense that we've never had horrible issues like other mothers and daughters have had. We've never argued much or had too many disagreements. Even as a teenager, I maintained a great relationship with her. She was, after all, my go-to person for all of my many emotional needs.

My mother, on the other hand, wasn't so fortunate. Her relationship with her mother wasn't so great. It's really her story to tell. However, I did know from a very early age that they did not really get along all that well. Let's just say that she confided in me a lot from the time I was pretty young. And I wasn't blind or deaf — I could see for myself how my grandmother treated her. My grandmother wasn't the easiest person to get along with. I always felt sorry for my mom--having a mother like that, it had to have been pure misery.

Life for me as the daughter in our relationship was pretty awesome. My mom treated me with respect; she treated me as though I had half a brain, and as I grew up, she trained me. She taught me how to clean, cook, do laundry, grocery shop, helped me with my homework, and did her best to make our chaotic little life as normal as possible.  That, in and of itself, took a lot of work on her part. As a family, we moved around a lot — different jobs, cities, schools, friends, churches — and it was hard on all of us. However, my mom and I had each other.

What a great friend she turned out to be. When I was growing up, I wasn't aware that we had a unique relationship. I thought everyone had a mom like mine. It wasn't until I hit high school that I realized that there were some pretty awful moms out there. My friends would come over to our house, crying their eyes out, and end up talking to my mom. She wasn't just there for me, but for them as well. I was really proud to have her for my mom--even as a teenager. She'd sit and listen to my friends and me as we went on and on about boys--about how they had broken our hearts or had ignored us. She'd drive us by their houses and giggle with us; she'd take us out for sodas, and we'd talk to her about who we thought was cute or who the new guy was in school. Not once do I ever remember her criticizing us or making fun of us. She never called our mad crushes puppy love or made any other demeaning comments. She was great to talk to. She was forever the taxi driver--taking us to the mall, the movies, football games, and even periodically helping us cut school and driving us to the lake for the day. She was cool. Yes, that's what she was. Cool. And, my mom was a great dresser; she was pretty, young, and hip. I admired her. And so did my friends.

Now, before you get the wrong impression, let me clarify something. My mom was strict. Oh yes, she was. She, however, laid the groundwork early. And that was key. When I was little, I knew that what she said--she meant. Her no was no, and her yes was yes. One of her favorite sayings when I was little was, "When I said' jump, 'you ask how high."  And I knew that when she laid down a boundary line--I wasn't to cross it. We grew to have a mutual respect for each other. She explained the reasons for her yes, no, or maybe-so answers. I liked that. Sometimes the explanations came from her own life experiences, sometimes (most times) they were Biblical explanations. She used the Bible regularly to teach me things. She believed (as do I) that the answers to life and what we should or should not do lie within those pages. As each issue came up, she would sit me down and run through what the Bible said and what the consequences would be if those teachings were ignored. And then--she'd leave it up to me!

Going through the teenage years, weighing the consequences of my actions, wasn't easy.  Sometimes I wished that the heavy load had been taken out of my hands. I wished that she'd just plain say no, you cannot go, cannot do, or cannot see that. But, she didn't. We would talk about the pros and cons, and she'd make me make my own decisions. Well, guess what I'd do? I'd make the right choice. Almost always. Mainly because I didn't want to disappoint her or my God. It was a heavy burden to be sure, but one I took seriously. I thoughtfully and prayerfully weighed each circumstance that came up--drinking, drugs, sex--I'd have to decide for myself if it was worth it. Oh, the agony. Maybe that's why she did it that way. If I had to agonize over it, maybe--just maybe I'd do the right thing. It worked. As a teenager, I was pretty dinged dang good!

Yes, life for me growing up with a mother like mine was great. She thoughtfully listened to me without immediately giving her opinion. She prayed for me. She went from being the mom to being the friend flawlessly. She disciplined and loved equally. She was a great mediator between my dad and me.  She was always there for me. And, I guess that's the bottom line. She was always there. And she still is. We moved away 12 years ago, and now I only get to see her once, maybe twice, per year. However, we talk on the phone weekly — best friends who share the past, the present, and the future.

Yes, I admire my mom. I think I have the best mom in the world. I think she deserves a medal for all her hard work — in marriage, in raising 2 daughters, and in life. My mom is my hero. She inspired me to be who I am today. She encouraged me. And I love her so much. My mama and I.

Thank you, Mom!  I love you!

My mom