Lessons from moms last a lifetime

After asking readers to share their “memoirs of mom” by sending in personal thoughts and memories, I realized that I’m not the only one who cherishes being embraced by a mother who loved me for who I was and who I became as an adult.

So many of you wrote with emotion, telling us about your mothers who weren’t famous or rich, but who taught life lessons that are priceless.

It doesn’t happen when our mothers are scolding us, grounding us to our rooms or lecturing on what’s right or wrong. It doesn’t happen when we think we’re being treated unfairly because we aren’t allowed to do what we want to do. What does happen, after eventually growing into the person we are destined to become, we realize that our mothers were our role models, and we’re happy to become like them.

Mom was a very serious person, and as I grew into being quirky, silly and sometimes just plain crazy, I often wondered where this behavior came from. I eventually figured out that she encouraged me to become a free spirit by allowing me to experience life to its fullest, as long as I stayed within the boundaries, which by the way, I had a hard time doing.

Life lessons from mom were very subtle, as she was a woman of few words, although her actions said everything. From the time I was old enough to ask for money, she kept a running tab on the refrigerator of what I owed and what I had paid back. From doing chores around the house, to when I was old enough to get a real job, she never gave any handouts. I learned to appreciate the value of working for what you want.

Staying true to her word, I paid the consequences of wrongdoings and if she did feel sorry for me, it never showed, which allowed me to learn right from wrong and kept me from repeating bad decisions.

Even though I feel she taught me so much while I was growing up, the greatest life lessons were during her last three months of life.

It began while sitting in the doctor’s office, after receiving the diagnosis that her time on earth would soon be coming to an end. As I cried she comforted me with dry eyes and turned the conversation towards craft projects she wanted to finish along with instructions to get her more glue sticks for her glue gun.

Her living room turned into a mock hospital room with oxygen tanks and morphine. With help from hospice, she spent her remaining time at home.

I’ll never regret making the decision to stay by her side – even though it meant I had to struggle between being daughter and nurse.

The days were full of long talks as we shared our secrets of life, reminiscing about happy times and sad. She never complained, never cried and made me promise that I would not grieve, but carry on with the strength she had insisted I always had.

I’m getting out the glue gun mom – this craft project is for you.