My Mother the gladiator

 I wish I was more like my mother. It's Christmas Eve and my sweet husband just cracked open the door and asked me if I wanted sushi from Takara restaurant or homemade chili. Prepared by him of course. At my parents house I'm sure my mother is busying herself over the hot stove to prepare the most mouth watering feast imaginable. Honey cured ham, mashed potatoes, and eggnog included. And this is not just a Christmas tradition. Every night when I was growing up, our hungry family would gather round the dining room table to a homemade dinner that looked and tasted as though it was the center spread for the "Better homes and gardens" magazine.

My mother is a 5'1 sprite of a woman with the soul of a gladiator. When something breaks around the house, most women go nag there tired husbands to bust out their burly muscles and power tools to fix it. Not my mother. Instead she gathers up her dainty little frame, her own collection of tools and fixes it herself. It's not unusual to come by my parents house in the peak of summer to find my mother perched on the roof with a chainsaw, cutting down tree branches.

My mother is made up of so many elements that are impressed upon my memory for eternity. I remember nestling up to her soft white blouse in church, breathing in her scent. To me she smells like a dewy spring mourning in a field of tulips. Sweet and endlessly comforting. I remember her soft whisper tickling my ear causing my cheek to twitch. I remember holding onto her tiny delicate hands, tracing the veins that run across them while her soprano voice tinkled out from behind a hymn book. She is the fabric that makes up who I am. I have been pieced together since the day I was born by this beautiful woman.

Recently my mother began her battle with breast cancer. As the gladiator that she is, she has not allowed this to change much. Tonight as always, she is busy preparing the house for her children to come visit on Christmas day. She's probably adding finishing touches to gifts that she has spent countless hours sewing herself. Even after her kids are all grown, she still spends her time making sure we are taken care of and that we all feel loved.

I hope she knows how much I love and cherish her. I want her to know that I still need her even though I now have children of my own. She is still the torch in the darkness that is guiding my life. I want her to know that she is not alone. I am shouting out a battle cry and fighting along side her until this battle is won.

I love you mom.