Mother, Madre, Mum. No matter what you call her, shes your mommy. I call mine Cath, short for Cathryn. This past week I learned something about her. My mother had to have surgery on her neck. It was a very big, scary ordeal. One that seemed easier to deal with than it actually was. The details of how the surgery actually went are not very important. All I cared about was how she was going to recover. She went in on a Wednesday and I was there that night and the following Friday to make sure they were taking care of my Cath. In so many ways she is all I have and although I knew it was a pretty routine surgery I was scared for her. Hardcore. For me, the trauma really began after she came out of the operating room. When I entered her room she was lying there on the bed with wires flowing from her body and wrapping her up in this sort of technological cocoon. On a regular day my mother was a pretty classy amount of make-up, contemporary black-rimmed glasses, and a flirty, yet friendly smile. That day her face lacked its vibrant color. She could barely keep her eyes open. I had ever never seen her this way. Even after the births of my sisters I can remember her mustering a smile for me. She could not sit up for herself, and couldnt even hiccup without being in the most severe pain. I felt lost. What is there to do when the person who takes care of you needs taking care of? After my first visit I felt extremely useless. I had done nothing to help her. When I returned two days later I was determined to do more, be in more control. That morning I helped her shower, brushed her hair and helped her to sit up on her own for a while. It was a nice role reversal, being able to give her what she has been giving me for the past nineteen years. After that day something changed. I never thought about there being a time when my mother would need me that much. Now, please understand that its not like I was living in this Peter Pan world where I thought she never would get older and live forever. I just never thought she would need me like that when she was so young. My Cath is a quite graceful forty-something. I have never seen her as an age; only as a person, and for the first time I have started contemplating my time with her. We have been together nineteen years, and in that time she has been the only force that never waivers. She has stood by in every ridiculous phase I have gone through. She has always loved me. She loved me when I was determined to marry Jonathan Taylor Thomas, (or JTT as I liked to call him), Zach Hanson, Justin Timberlake (pre-justified), Will Smith, Jonathan Davis, (She started calling me Kornchild Princess), Justin Timberlake (post-Justified), Paul Walker, Kanye West, Johnny Depp, Johnny Depp and more Johnny Depp. She knows me better than I know myself. She once told a guy I was seeing to NEVER mess up because I was like, The princess and the pea, my daughter notices everything. I love her so much, and for the first time I really thought about losing her. We arent getting any younger. I dont think she is going to go extinct tomorrow, but I do know now that although she has been everything to me, she is still a gentle mortal woman. She gets sick just like I do. She cries just like I do. She needs a hand to hold just like I do. And I will always be there, after all, she is my longest lasting and most functional relationship ever. These boys have a lot to compete with. Lesson Learned: Love your mum, and never let her forget it because she never lets you forget. Jillian Calip psychology sophomore and yes, she really does love her mommy. hello there & you too
