Okay, here it goes. If you know me at all, then you know what this blog is all about. And if you don’t know, now you know…
We all for the most part think we have the best mom in the world. It’s probably one of the most biased competitions this world will ever face. The cool thing about the competition is that each mom probably is the best, for that individual. Mostly because that mom raised them to think that way. So what most of this comes down to is a lot brainwashing. Touche` mothers.
I have indeed fallen victim to such brainwashing. I believe, without a single doubt, that my mother is the best in the world. She is the best for me. Because she made me this way.
In my experience, most people seem to go through these phases:
Young child “My mommy is the best mommy”
Teenager “Why can’t my mom be more like those moms?”
Young Adult “I don’t really need my mom like I used to”
Adult “My mommy is the best mommy”
I haven’t necessarily gone through these phases, but it seems like most people do. Because most people want their independence from an early age, and well, I’m 30 and still live at home. By choice. Because I don’t want to leave my mom.
For all you thinkers out there, you can say it… it’s pretty obvious, I have attachment issues. When I was young I was the one clinging to my mom’s leg out in public. I preferred to hang out with my mom than my friends. There has rarely been a day in the past 30 years when we haven’t spoke. Very rarely.
She’s the person I want to be with the most. She’s my numero uno.
A lot of that is public knowledge. I’m not one to hide how I feel about the people in my life. If I love you, everyone knows. If I don’t love you, you’re likely not in my life. Haha. Stupid. But true?
The moment I was told that I tore my ACL will be something I remember for as long as I live. I didn’t cry in front of the doctor. Because I’m tough. I cried as soon as I got in my car. Because I’m not that tough. And all I kept thinking was, “I need my mom.” I wasn’t even processing the fact that my knee was effed up or that I wouldn’t be able to play the rest of the year, because that was way too much for me at the time. The voice in my head just kept saying, “I need my mom.”
That same day, I drove home to Connecticut. I needed to go home. I needed my mom.
I was losing my mental balance. And I needed something to grab onto.
When I hobbled in the door that night, she was there waiting. And I just started crying again. She was there for me. She was ready to take this on with me.
Since then, we’ve already been through a lot. I can’t get up for much, so she’s been doing everything for me. And has shown that she will do anything for me. She’s good at that. Showing it.
I’ve struggled to put my socks on, to remember if I took my meds or not (she counts them out and writes the number on my white board now) and I’ve struggled to get to the bathroom on my own.
It’s extremely humbling to have your mother hold you up while you pee in your little cousin’s kiddy potty. (He’s very confused when I tell him I used his potty, but it’s pretty hilarious)
Regardless, she’s here with me. She makes sure I’m okay every five minutes. And wakes up in the middle of the night to make sure I don’t fall when I go to pee on the big potty now. (Breaking barriers!)
It’s impressive. It’s inspiring. It’s way more than she has to do. Even though some might argue that it’s her job. It’s not her job. She doesn’t have to do it. She could have told me to stay in DC and get everything done there. She could have told me to suck it up and deal with the pain and be hard as hell on me.
But she knows that’s not what I need right now. I’m sure I will eventually need that during this process. But not now. Not yet.
Though I never really liked these kinds of sayings, experiences like this do tell you more about people in your life than if they didn’t happen. I always knew she was a great human and she’s always sacrificed and worked for her kids. But the past few weeks have taught me a great lesson about the power of a mother’s intuition, unconditional love and people stepping up big when they are needed.
I fell. And she was there to catch me. When I’m up again, she’ll push me. And when I’m ready, she’ll tell me to get my ass back on the field. Because she knows I need it. And she’ll know when I’m ready for it.
So, Mom. I’m sorry you had to serve me breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day. And that you had to work. But you will get a good gift, I promise! Love you. Happy Mother’s Day!