Is there a such thing as a unique Mother's Day post?

I don't know.

But if there is indeed a unique Mother's Day post, I'm probably not going to be the one writing it. I came here to brag on my mom, so that's what I'm gonna do.

First, let me tell you a bit (and by bit, I mean averysmallpieceofherincrediblycomplicatedlife) of her story.

She grew up in a very small town, with a very small town mentality, on a farm. She had a cow, I think some chickens, and at one point I think there was a horse involved. She went to a small Christian school, and was generally a pretty normal kid.

When she was ten, she started having some health problems. To make an extremely long story short, two open heart surgeries, one wedding, and three kids later, we arrive at the year 2001. She hadn't been feeling well for quite some time now, but she was hanging in there. Someone needed something at target, so off we went. Again, to make a long story shorter, the whole family wound up in the ER waiting room wondering what was wrong with mom. This is where the big story begins.

There was a Discovery Channel show on the big screen about manatees, but I wasn't interested. Dad was back in the room with Mom. I was in charge of the siblings. Andrew's head was on my lap, he'd fallen asleep. Jessie was watching the TV, but not really paying attention to it, the same as I was. Dad came out with mom and said we were all going home. I remember she wasn't doing very well, but I couldn't place what was wrong, and it was bugging me.

The story progresses. To give you an idea of just how incredibly sick she was, at one point I remember (and honestly, my memory is probably somewhat inaccurate...but you'll get the idea) calling an ambulance for her three times in one week. It became part of life, and I'm fairly sure dispatchers probably knew who I was when I called in by the time the doctors finally got something figured out to help her heart. It was around this time that I knew I wanted to become a paramedic someday.

A year later, and mom is still sick. On the couch, can't get up or we're going to the ER again, sick. I remember feeling guilty because I couldn't fix her, and feeling quite in awe of her at the same time. She couldn't look out the window to check on us when we played outside, so I remember her grabbing dad's hunting walkie-talkies, handing one to me, and keeping the other one of her bedside table. About every 15-30 minutes I'd get a call on the walkie-talkie to make sure we were okay. My friends laughed, and I'd complain every once in a while, but I always knew she was just doing what she had to do. And I remember thinking, "I hope this makes her less stressed, so she'll get better."

I remember my sister making her juice three or four times a day. She'd complain about it too, and I still remember a picture my mom snapped of her, with her face in her hands, pouting, and holding two carrots. It's quite the sight, and pretty funny. I remember mom's skin turning orange, because all she could eat was juiced carrot and celery, after it had been strained two or three times to get all the fiber-filled carrot chunks out of it.

And then we moved to my grandparents basement. It's really not as dismal as it seems... we had our own kitchen, and we made do with two bedrooms. Mom was doing better now, she could eat a little more variety and we didn't fear we'd be making a trip to the ER whenever she got up to go to the restroom anymore. She was able to do some housework and cook some meals. Things were looking up.

Finally, a few months after we moved, we got a diagnosis. Celiac disease. Mom looked at me with a sad look on her face, and I remember thinking the worst, she had three months to live, maybe even less. It's not like it would be a shocker, and I'd had time to think about how I'd react and what I'd do. But then she smiled and said "I've got Celiac Disease...we'd better go get some oreos!" And did we ever get some oreos...and they were gone by that night, I'm pretty sure!

It didn't take too long for Mom to start feeling better. We slowly, slowly, ever so slowly got our Mom back. And then I went crazy, but that's a different story for a different time :)

I write all of that, and while that may not stun you, this next part will. I never once heard my mom complain. She would ask us to do something for her, and I would complain because I wanted to go hang with my friends rather than help my mom, but not once did I hear anything negative come out of her mouth about her health. To this very day, she makes meals FULL of things she can't eat, with no regard for herself. Not only does she not complain, but she doesn't ruin it for us either. How easy would it be for her to say "Oh man, that looks so good, wish I could have some...", or "Gee, how cool would it be to eat some of that chocolate cake!"? Nope. If someone offers her a piece of cake, or says "have you tried _____ to help your stomach pains?", she laughs it off and says something like "I'd love to, but I'd be on the toilet for weeks!"

My mom is the only person I know who can talk about almost starving to death and make the conversation uplifting instead of depressing.

My mom is the only person I know who could have dealt with my rebellious, obnoxious, awkward teen aged years with poise and grace, and without strangling me.

Annnddd...My mom is the only person who could have shown me as well as she did that no matter what, you still have the capability to do what's right.

Mom, you prepared me for my marriage by giving me a Godly example of what marriage really is. You prepared me for hardships by showing me openly Who you relied on. And you showed me how to love by loving me with all your heart.

I love you, Mamma!!