Folks often talk about a mother’s love, don’t they? Like it’s this super special, almost mythical thing. And you know what? Maybe it is. I didn’t really, truly get it until I went through a rough patch myself. That was my “practice,” my real-life lesson in seeing what it actually means.
So, a few years ago, I got hit with something nasty. Not just a sniffle, I mean, I was properly down for the count. Doctors were doing their thing, running tests, looking serious. It was a worrying time, to put it mildly. I remember just lying in bed, feeling completely useless and pretty scared, honestly.
And my mom? She just shifted her whole world. I saw her do it. She had her own life, her own routines, things she enjoyed. But it was like, poof, all that got pushed to the side. She was there. That’s the simplest way to put it. She just showed up, day in and day out. She was making calls, talking to the doctors, trying to make sense of all the medical jargon they threw around. I could see the worry on her face, but she kept a brave front for me.
I’d watch her. She’d bring me food, even when I had zero appetite. She’d sit with me, sometimes just quietly, sometimes trying to distract me with silly stories. She wasn’t a trained nurse, but she learned what needed to be done. Changing bedsheets, making sure I took my meds, all that stuff. She just did it. No fuss, no complaints. I saw her get tired. I saw the strain. But she never once said, “This is too much.”
There was this one particular night, I felt absolutely terrible. Feverish, weak, and my mind was just racing with all the worst-case scenarios. She must have sensed it. She came in, didn’t say much, just pulled up a chair and sat next to my bed. She stayed there for hours, sometimes holding my hand, sometimes just being a presence. It sounds simple, but man, that was powerful. It was like an anchor.
That whole period, it was my “practice” in understanding. It wasn’t about grand, dramatic statements. It was in the steady, unwavering things:
- Her just being present, consistently.
- Her putting my needs completely before her own, without a second thought.
- Her quiet strength, even when I knew she was worried sick.
- Her fighting for me, in her own way, advocating with the medical folks.
It really made me think. This wasn’t just about obligation. It was something else. Something fierce. It’s like all her energy, all her focus, just zeroed in on getting me through it. It’s like that saying, you know? It dares all things. My sickness, the uncertainty – her love was pushing back against all of it, tirelessly.
So yeah, that was my journey, my process of really seeing it. It wasn’t something I read about or heard about. I lived it, or rather, had it shown to me in the most direct way possible. And this here, me sharing this, this is my record of it. It’s something that stays with you, deep down. You don’t forget that kind of dedication. It changes how you see things, for sure.
