She has the kind of beauty that draws children to stop and smile at her, perhaps sensing that she will always, always take a moment to smile back and say hello to any little ones that cross her path.
With her ability to see the joy in simple things, she should have been a camp director.
With her unlimited patience, she should have been a kindergarten teacher.
With her inner strength and refusal to give up on a child, she should have been a pediatric nurse.
But she’s not.
She’s a mom, a grandma, a wife, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend.
With phone calls, e-mails, greeting cards, she keeps in touch, remembering birthdays and anniversaries and acknowledging them year in and out.
When too much time has gone by, she’s the one who gathers our family together reunions and talking and loving and laughter.
She’s my mom.
As a child, I didn’t truly realize her gifts.
I knew she would let me spend hours in the library browsing shelves and choosing books that some moms may have insisted were too difficult for someone my age.
I knew, when I was sick, her hand on my forehead would always seem cooler and more soothing than any other hand in the world.
I knew, when I was a teenager and pushing any of her buttons I could find, she would never raise her voice or lose her temper or let me self-destruct.
That could be annoying.
Now that I am a mother, I appreciate her patience, her calm presence, her unwavering support.
I recognize her endless generosity and selflessness with Abbey and Dylan, and I know she acted the same way with my brother and me, though we may not have known those words or how to thank her at the time.
Even now, unless asked, she is still patient enough with me to let me figure things out on my own, and I’m finally learning to appreciate the millions of times she must have bitten her tongue as I was growing up.
But like any respectable grandma, she’s only given me a few pieces of unsolicited parenting advice: it is always, always ok to comfort a crying child, a little ice cream never hurt anyone, and just love them.
Thanks to her, the unconditional love part has never, ever been in doubt. I am lucky enough that it’s the only kind of maternal love I’ve ever known.
This post was written by Angela of the blog Tiaras and Trucks
*Note from Bellflower Books: This post made me cry. Your mother is the type of mom we all can only hope to be. I am so glad you wrote this about her. I hope she reads it:)
If you have someone wonderful in your life that you would like to honor in a guest post, please contact me at kerry(at)bellflowerbooks(dot)com. This is what Bellflower Books are all about. Showing people they are loved and appreciated. These guest posts make my day!