Happy Mothers Day

I was embarrassed by and often ashamed of my mother growing up. She was loud, brash and wore too much makeup.


I felt this way for years, even as a young adult, until my mother was diagnosed with liver disease. She was admitted to the hospital, stayed four days and came home. She made an emergency return two days later after almost dying on the living room sofa.

She went on to spend the next two months in the hospital, fighting for her life. I learned a lot about her in those two months. I learned a lot about myself as well.

Her doctors had basically written her off, and they often seemed annoyed that she was there, taking up their time and a hospital bed. She would ignore them and remind them that she would be going home. She was not going to die, and she “sure as hell was not going to die in this miserable place.”

My mother spent every day of that two month hospital stay being poked, prodded and forced to undergo some incredibly painful medical procedures. Her failing liver meant that fluid collected in her abdomen, and that required the doctors to drain her abdomen several times a week in a process they referred to as tapping. Yes, like a keg. For some reason, the nurses would collect the fluid in mason jars and leave it on the windowsill in the hospital room. One time, there were six jars.

I never realized how tough my mother was until that hospital stay. She beat the odds and everyone’s expectations. She looked death in the face and kicked its ass. She’s never looked back. Her doctor is amazed each year when she returns for her annual checkups, and he uses her as an example to his other patients as someone who faced the odds, didn’t give up and beat them. He even wrote a medical journal article about her progress.

My mother is still brash and loud and wears too much makeup, but I am no longer embarrassed by her. Her brush with death taught me a lesson I should have learned long before I did. It does not matter what a person looks like on the outside. It matters what they are on the inside—what kind of character they are. I am proud to say that my mother is a good person. She is kind and caring, especially when it comes to her three children. I laugh because she still answers “What?” when she hears a child scream “Mom!” in the grocery store. She still insists we have family birthday parties, and she still cooks the birthday child’s favorite foods.

I am grateful I realized this before it was too late. Happy Mothers Day, Mom. I love you.