I was 13 years old, in grade 8, and my younger brother was 5 and he got the chicken pocks at school. I had never had the chicken pocks before. I knew that if he had them, I was surely going to get them too, but as I saw him live through it without much pain or suffering, I knew that I would probably not suffer too much either. Boy was I wrong. I first realized I got the pocks while I was at Habs game. The pocks started to develop on my stomach, and quickly spread all over my body. It itched so bad. I could barely move. And who came to my rescue? My mom. I thought I was a mature teenager that didn't really need my mommy anymore, boy was I wrong again. As I sat in the bath, with oven mits duck taped to my wrists, my mom bathed me like a little baby, with oatmeal filled nylon socks...She helped me get dressed, she made my food and made sure that the entire pocks experience went as smoothly as possible. At that moment, I realized that no matter how old you are, you will always need your mommy.
As I continue into adulthood, different life decisions are presented to me, and I know that even though I won't like the answer, I know that my mom will always give me her honest advice. I know that if I wear a dress that makes me look fat, she will honestly tell me, N. that dress isn't right for you. Honesty is sometimes something we don't always like to hear, but sometimes, we need to be told the truth to grow as individuals. I know I can always count on my mom for that.
I look at my mom now, who raised 4 beautiful children, worked for some high profile companies in high ranked positions, organized some of the most profitable charity events in the history of Montreal and still continues to do so. I can't say how much I admire her for being her. She is the strongest woman I know, the most driven and determined, the one who can enjoy the simple pleasures in life, who believes in the good in others, who helps others and who heals others. I only wish to develop all these qualities to their potential. I look at her and I see a beautiful woman, who, of course I don't always see eye to eye with, but who is so filled love and compassion. She always looks out for me and tries to always guide me in the right direction. Now, not that our directions are always similar and I can't say that I always agree with the direction in which she wants me to go, but the intention is always good. I used to complain, and maybe I still do, that my mom is too overbearing and sometimes I need some space and need to do the growing on my own, but I would much prefer a mother like this, than one that doesn't care at all.
Especially in the past year, I just want my mom to know how much I appreciate her, how much she means to me and how much I love her.
I love you mom.