My Hero

I can remember the exact moment that my mother died. I was six-months pregnant with my first child and had been talking to my mom daily about what it was going to be like. I can recall clearly how I enjoyed teasing her about the baby because of how often she had expressed to my husband and me that she wanted a granddaughter. The first time she mentioned it was approximately ten minutes after we had been pronounced husband and wife.

I had been married and promising my mom a grandchild for three years when I finally became pregnant. I was thrilled to be able to tell Mom the great news, which she was equally thrilled to hear. I remember her laughing when she told me that "The Mother's Curse" really did work and that I would definitely have a girl who would be exactly like I was when I was a child. I remember her smile when she talked of the pretty little girl things we could buy for the baby. Up until then the only grandchild my mom had was my nephew who was turning nine that year and was getting to the point where his concern about his image outweighed his desire to be cuddled by grandma.

From the day that I found out that I was going to be a mother I began to picture my daughter's life. Of course it had to be a daughter; my mom said it would be so it HAD to be. Every part of my daughter's life from the first day of kindergarten to her wedding day flashed in my mind. Every flash had grandma smiling at all the "firsts" that my daughter would have that I would undoubtedly brag about until people were screaming for me to shut up. I had not for a moment given thought to not having Mom there for every little, or big, thing that was to happen.

I spoke on the phone with my mom one July morning while she got ready for work and I was going on about the baby kicking. We had made plans to shop that weekend for a crib and other baby furniture. I told my mom that I loved her and would talk to her later. That would be the last time I would hear her voice. Later that evening when my phone rang something felt "off". The neighbor across the street from my mom's house was calling to let me know that my mom was being taken to the hospital. Before the call ended I was yelling for my husband to get me to my mom. I don't remember hanging up the phone or getting dressed; only running out the door. While in route to the hospital, I could see what was happening but couldn't feel anything. I saw the wind blowing my hair in front of my face but felt no breeze. I recall telling my husband that my mom was gone and we were too late, he reassured me that everything was going to be okay.

As we reached the hospital after what seemed an eternity, I realized that the ambulance transporting my mom wasn't there yet. The tears still remained hidden somewhere inside me at that point but I knew that she was gone. I knew that the one person that I looked to as a constant in my life was not going to be there anymore. I saw very clearly, probably for the first time ever, the strength, the love, the determination, the goodness, the beauty, the independence and all the other fine qualities that made up my mom's character. I saw what constitutes a hero. I knew then that everything she had ever done in her life she did out of love for her children and the example she needed to set for her daughters. I saw that she trusted me to pass these traits on to my daughter and she would be at peace.

The ambulance arrived and the doctors tried determinedly to revive her, but their efforts were in vain. She was gone and now the tears came in abundance. I cried for days, I think. I can't really remember when I stopped.

Three months later, my daughter arrived just about on schedule. I knew her name immediately. Throughout my life my mom gave me many things; love, comfort, security, independence and so much more. To my daughter, she gave her name.