My Mom

Just look at her there in this photo--so beautiful, no?  But what you won't see here is that my Mom is strong.  My Mom, with her Mama-Wolf instincts, her need to protect. The fierceness with which she loves--that usually comes in the moments following the shriek "everyone hates me, Mom..." when she turns to you with the most serious look, dishtowel over one shoulder, and says, "Stop that, now.  You're perfect.  There's absolutely NO REASON IN THE WORLD you should listen to that nonsense.  Whoever said that has no clue what they're talking about."  And she says it with such certainty that suddenly, you agree.  You realize that whoever said that is wrong--and you simply move on.
    
She asks if you've done your homework and you say you're hungry and she brings you some crackers and cheese and she pours herself a glass of wine.  You sit for a bit and you watch her at the oven as she cooks, and you can tell she truly thinks the whole thing is nonsense--not that you suffer, but that someone's taken you down.  "Snap out of it," she'll say later on when you search for the pity you're sure you need.  And instead she reminds you that life doesn't stop and neither should you.  "You're perfect," she says again.  Not in a touchy-feely way that leaves you feeling superior but as a fact:  you're perfect; you're on your way; you're doing your best.  Forget the fools and do your thing.  Life is bigger than this.

My Mom is resilience.  And at this age, I value her more than I ever have.