Last month, my mom and I were flying to an event where I was speaking. As I told her about some exciting things happening with Momastery, Together Rising, and my book—she seemed quieter than usual. I asked her what was wrong and her eyes got watery. She said, Oh, it’s nothing, honey. It’s silly. What? I said. Her voice quivered as she said, Oh, it’s just that you and your sister are doing such world-changing, important work. I’m so proud of you. Sometimes I wish I’d done something important, something world-changing—so you two could be as proud of me as I am of you. So that when you introduced to me to the crowds you speak to, you could say, I’d like to introduce you to my mom, she wrote this book or started this company or something important like that. I don’t know.
I was stunned. And so I held her hand but I did not know what to say.
I know what to say now.
Mama. You never taught me to care about the crowd, so let’s forget about them for a moment. Instead, please allow me to re-introduce you to yourself.
There you are, Mama. Top row, there in the middle. You were born to Alice, a nurse and William, a surgeon. You were the second in a line of seven children. You shared your home (and one shower) with five sisters and two brothers. You were the caretaker and resident goody-goody. You rebelled by hiding in the closet to practice conjugating Spanish verbs in peace. Aunt Rosie told me: “I looked up to Patti. I was in awe of Patti. She always made me feel safe, wanted and loved. I could depend on her. She was fun, a bit mischievous, a bit daring. But mostly she was very responsible. Patti was and still is my rock. My go-to person. I trust her completely. She is full of generosity, love, tenderness, and wisdom.”
You went off to high school and were wildly popular, the head cheerleader and homecoming queen. But what people in your neighborhood remember of you is not your crown but your kindness. I found your old neighbor, Jane. Jane lived across from you on Sixth Street. She told me: “What made Patti so special as a teenager was that she was so pretty that she didn’t really have to be nice—she could have just gotten by on her looks. But she was more than just pretty. I always felt that she not only acknowledged my presence, but really saw that I was there. She always said hello and really waited to hear the answer that came back. It made me feel good.”
After college, you decided to leave your small Ohio town and set off on your own. You moved to Virginia and became a Spanish teacher and then a guidance counselor. You cared for every student as if she were your own. Remember Cindy, mama? Cindy comes to every event of mine within thirty miles of her home, because of you. Cindy told me, “Your mom listened with her eyes. I could look at her as I would pour my emotions and know she was there WITH me in THAT moment. That was love. That love makes me cry as I sit here thinking about that time in my life with my injured heart. That was her gift for all of us students in a hard place.”
You met my dad at the school where you were both teaching. He was the football coach. I’d give all the money in my account for a chance to witness the moment you met.
You’ve been married for 42 years now, Mom. I was driving dad’s truck the other day and I found your high school picture taped inside his sun visor. When I asked him about it, Dad said: “Her face reminds me not to lose my cool. To be kind. Having her close makes me better.” Yes, I know what you mean, I said.
I took this pic driving away from you two the other day. My babies were in the car. Remember? And we were all watching you and thinking: Huh. That must be what marriage looks like after forty years.
You and dad had two baby girls, Sister and me. You gave us yourself and then you gave us each other. You gave me my baby sister, Mama. It was just the four of us. Dad and his girls. Nothing else mattered. We were a team, even when—especially when—things got hard.
We’ve had lots of hard times, haven’t we, Mama? Remember when I was still drinking and I was so sick, and Craig and I came and told you that I was pregnant? Remember how afraid you were for us? Do you remember the first thing you said to us, Mom? You looked me right in the eye and after everything my addiction had put our family through you said: Glennon, you don’t have to marry him. We can raise this baby together. I was stunned by your immediate courage. You are never too tired to love me, Mom. And you are never too afraid to believe in me. Craig and I did get married and I did get sober but you kept your promise anyway.
Remember when Sister told us she was moving to Rwanda to help save those little girls? And remember how every bone in your body was screaming NO and how you wished you’d never taught her to be so brave or care so much? Do you remember what you said? I do. You said: Go, honey. Do what you need to do. And remember how every night between the time you gave your blessing and the time she left, you knitted her that beautiful blanket—all purples and greens—your fingers furiously moving, night after night, so she’d have a reminder that even an ocean between you couldn’t stop you from loving her?
And then this past year, Mama. This year your best friend, your mama, died. And you took her hand and even though both of you were shaking, you walked her home. They told you to hire a crew but you and your sisters and brothers said: No thank you. We will learn this. She cared for us and changed us and dressed us and prayed with us and rocked us to sleep and now it’s our turn. Our mother helped us live and we will help her die. And so you moved back to Ohio and you and your brothers and sisters spent months sleeping on the floor next to her bed. Waking five times a night to shift her body, giving her medicine for her pain, bathing her, curling her hair each morning, dressing her and picking out her jewelry with such great love, as if each morning she was preparing to meet the queen. For almost six months you left Alice Flaherty only once, to fly to Sister and meet your fifth grandchild—Alice Flaherty—because life goes on, even when life ends. And you held your granddaughter Alice and remembered that when your work with Alice was done, another Alice would be waiting. Because your work is never done, Mama. We need you so much. All the time, every day. We thought we’d need you less as we got older but we need you more.
And when Grandma died, your grief was so deep and so relentless that it scared me, Mama. What I learned watching you grieve for Grandma—watching the Steady One shake is: You are just human. I couldn’t believe it, Mom. I think this is the moment a woman truly appreciates her mother for the first time—when she watches Her Rock cry and she suddenly understands: this woman has loved us this fiercely, this steadily, this completely all of these decades—and she is only a human being? Is that, then—what is also expected of me?
Yes, you said. In your grief and with all your humanness you gave Grandma’s eulogy. You stood up at her service and you told the story and the legacy of your best friend. You did her justice, Mama. You were so brave and tender and beautiful. You stood tall and strong and your voice did not waver and you honored her. You told us with your posture, your voice, your presence: Daughters, Our love must be greater than our grief. Sister and I sat in the pew holding hands and we understood, Mama. Nothing, not fear, not fatigue, not deep, deep despair can keep us from showing up for our people. Love often means doing the hardest thing, the impossible thing. We understand. There is always something more important than your feelings, and that is your family.
And then two months later you were here, in Florida, with me, trying to heal and recover when you got the call that Aunt Debi found a lump, and that it was cancer. You must have been so afraid and so tired. But you did not consult your exhaustion or your pain or your fear. You just started packing. I watched you pack, Mama. And as you zipped up your suitcase once again I learned that Sisters answer the phone and then they start packing. You went to Debi and you sat by her bed. You changed her bandages and you cried and laughed with her—and so Debi was afraid and she was in pain but she was not alone in her fear and pain. Her sister was by her side.
Debi said: “To me, Patti is the matriarch of our family. She shared my tears, she shared my fears but she would comfort me and tell me we would get through this. She was by my side ready to help me with whatever I needed done. She got up with me at least 3 times during the night, prepared and cooked meals, drove me to my doctor’s appointments. I can’t thank her enough, but the times I do, it is with my whole heart, which is filled with joy because of my sister, Patti.”
Do you think I will forget watching you pack and go? And as a result: do you think I will ever, for one second leave Sister alone? Your youngest daughter will never be alone, mama. Because I will answer the phone when she calls and then I will start packing. I understand, Mama.
And then you came back to Florida and spent this past winter with us. Remember when we were trying to decide how to help you heal and I asked you what your dream would be? A cruise around the world? A trip to Paris? You said: “I don’t have a single dream other than being with you. I don’t want to see the world, I just want to be with my grand babies. You guys are my world. Being with you is what I need to heal.” And so you came and you were with my babies every single day and it was the best winter we’ve ever had. I watched them with you for months. Do you remember what you kept saying to Amma each night as you taught her to knit? I was listening from the dining room, Mom, and you were saying: “Just try honey. Don’t worry at all. If you mess up we will fix it together and begin again.”
That’s why I’m out there taking risks, Mama. Because you taught me that if I fail, so what? I can come home to you and you will look at me and your eyes will always say: You are my dream come true. Who cares what else you are? Who cares?
Not me.
Mama,
Were you afraid, for a moment on the plane that day, that you’d been so busy loving your people that you forgot to do something important?
Because what I’ve learned from you is that there isn’t a damn thing more important than loving your people.
Do you wish you’d written a book? A book? Mama, your love has written the entire world of our family into existence. The characters in your story are bold and brave because your love made them that way. Our plot line is love and courage and hope and steadfastness. Our family is a beautiful story, Mama—and the hero of our story is you. You are the hero. You are the one. You created this family and you watch over it and tend to it and delight in it and you are the closest I’ve ever come to seeing God, Mama.
And here is the moral of your story: You taught us that what matters is love, and that love is relentlessly showing up for your people.
And so Sister and I will take care of each other forever. When the phone rings, we’ll answer it, and we’ll start packing. We will sleep on the floor and we will pick out jewelry and we will walk our people home. We will sit with our grand babies and we will teach them everything we know. Everything we know is what you taught us. We’ll give the eulogies, Mama. Even if we’re shaking, we’ll give the eulogies.
And we will always remember that the most world-changing work we can do is this: We can live in a way so that our children will be able to say, Not one moment of my life did I wonder if I was adored. Never, ever did I feel alone. And they will pass it on. They will answer the phone. They will start packing. They will know that when your people are hurting, you go. You show up. Again and again forever. That is family. That is love. That is your legacy. Your legacy is that none of your people will be alone. Not ever. Because you made that rule for us, and then you lived it. We just don’t know any different.
Well done, Mom. The story you wrote is my favorite of all time. A better story simply doesn’t exist.
Happy Heroes Day, Mama.
Author of the #1 New York Times Bestseller LOVE WARRIOR — ORDER HERE
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241 Comments
Aww that’s so lovely. It’s an amazing story of you and your mom. <3
Lots of love and prays for ya all!
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Aww that’s so lovely. It’s an amazing story of you and your mom. <3
Lots of love and prays for ya all! 🙂
I’ve to say that you’re sooo lucky to have such loving mom!! It’s a heart touching story 🙂
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I’ve had this post opened in a window on my phone since it was originally posted, but only tonight did I finally read it. Tonight, a week after I had a heart to heart with a sweet friend and disclosed a real sadness that if I’m truly honest, I don’t think I’m enough. I’ll never do anything wonderful and I thinkif I was given the opportunity I’d be too afraid of failure to try. She just wrote me the most sincere note-she spent an entire flight putting together a list of my strengths. They’re mostly things like what you’ve said about your mother. Things perhaps the world would never notice-certainly not something I could put on a resume-and yet the time she took-a few hours alone away from her two snl boys-a lifetime for a young mama, and the way you so eloquently wrote about the impact your own mother had on your life and so many others makes me wonder if maybe they might actually be true.
Bawling so hard. Wishing I was a part of your family. Wishing it were possible for people to adopt a 45 yo mama. Because my parents abandoned me this summer, they don’t want me anymore. And I need a mom. I still do. Instead I’m a sad orphan who feels empty. My MIL died 7 years ago, so I am parent-less.
Your mom made you and that is pretty fantastic. I wish I had a mom like yours. She sounds amazing.
I love this post and read the first one and bawled and now read this today and bawled. Your Mom is amazing and she made some pretty friggin amazing (and hawt) daughters too. Much love to all of you as your remember your wonderful Alice today.
XOXO
T.
Amazing… and tears leaking out of my eyes. Your momma is truly a blessing and I could feel all of that from here in Wisconsin. Hug her for all of us. She has written her book on all your hearts which has been transferred to us. We love her too, for she has given us you . God bless you all. And thank you for sharing your momma with us.
Totally understand if this won’t be allowed in the comments but if you do see this please contact me. Your mom is all that your wrote and so much more since. she lives with a community of people and each person has a special reason for loving her. all most for certain she has no idea of the impact that she has on friends and family. I don’t think any of us do. I do videos that give people a sense of that impact and it totally blows them away. I think you would love it. I write not to use you for marketing but because you clearly love your mother and I’m sure you would love to see her be showered in love from all her friends and family.
As I look down at the white sheet of paper below my keyboard– the sheet of paper that I was “sketching my website” onto– I no longer see the blank, daunting emptiness that was staring back at me a few minutes ago. Now was I see is a sheet of paper, stained with tears, blotted with vast inspiration, and so perfectly imperfect, that I can now place myself within it, without the fear of “what is is supposed to look like” keeping me from putting myself out there. Because this is what I want to share with the world –my heart– and it is messy and vulnerable and built upon the stories that move me to tears. I cannot thank you enough for this gift you gave me today, and I cannot thank your Mama enough for giving you this story to write.
This is beautiful. My Mother died while searching for me and I’ve never stopped grieving our loss.
This is, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing that I have ever read. Thank you so much for sharing.
That was just beautiful. I too am blessed to have a Mom like you do.
I have never left a comment on a blog before, but as I sit here and sob I feel it is necessary. My wounds run deep because as I write, my 61 year old mother is nearly dead from her fight with dementia. Her body remains but her mind is gone. Her 90lb body cannot fight much longer. She is my hero, as your mother is yours. I grieve so heavily because I DO still need her and, oh, how I wish that my children could know her. I also find such intense joy in the time we had together and I appreciate every. single. word. that you wrote. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks to you, Glennon, and the inspiring life of your mother, I am going to shake off all the fears and anxieties and worries I have and I am going to LIVE IN THE MOMENT from now on. I am going to fill each of these moments with love and hope and happiness and contentment and, ofcourse, smiles.
Thanks again for sharing your story!
I came upon your post at a time when I was feeling like I was failing my daughter and my family. Let me tell you wholeheartedly that I couldnt have read anything that gave me more inspiration and determination and hope to strive harder.
You have a wonderful mother – a true hero.
Thank you very much!
Sob. My nest is almost empty. I’m trying to remember who I am and figure out where to go from here. I wonder if I should have been more brave, done something bigger.
Boom.
I feel you just validated my existence.
Thank you.
Love that. Love wins.
Good Lord… I could barely get through this. What a beautiful post. Exquisite!!
So beautiful.
As I read, I was considering what I would write in a piece like this for my mum, also one of life’s very good people. So thank you for what I will write for her as I wouldn’t have thought to write it without your inspiration.
You have inspired me so much Glennon! Check out my blog which I started recently, in large part, because I was inspired by you. I specifically mention you in my FAQ #2 post.
I was very moved by this post about your mom. My blog is doublyblessedandstressed.wordpress.com/ I would love some feedback on my new project from you if you have the time. Thanks for inspiring me and keep telling your truth, it’s what inspired me to tell mine!
Peace and Love,
Thais
I can’t imagine feeling this way about my mother–or really anyone in my family. It is posts like this that (re)confirm just how much I missed out on by having the family that I have and it makes me believe that cutting them out of my life really was the right choice. Still makes me unbelievably sad and angry about what I missed out on though. Your mother sounds like a really incredible lady, as are you.
Hi,
I lost my mother in a terrible accident when she was trying to do something she thought would make me happy.
And now, I have been estranged from my father and my family because of physical abuse and emotional neglect.
I have tears in my eyes reading this post because my anchor is gone and when I fail, I am on my own.
I am sorry for you have been through with your family and I am sure you have made the best decision for your well being.
I am still sad and angry too and you are not alone in this struggle.
I loved this. What an amazing hommage to your Momma.
PS: She looks just like the girl in the old movie ‘love story’ (in that pic with your dad with his shirt off).
Just donated!
That, those words, those are the most beautiful you’ve ever written. Clearly your hero taught you well.
Bravo! By the way, Craig reminds me of your dad and you look sooooooo much like your Mom. This is such a breathtakingly beautiful post;thank you.
What a wonderful tribute to your mother. Like so many women, she’s so busy helping others, she doesn’t see her own value.
I love you Glennon!!! Your writing is a true gift. I am crying like a baby. I come from strong women and there has not been one day I have ever doubted that I was loved by them. My people love me and it has taught me to love and never give up. Your mama is a warrior, my mama is too. Sisteron, love wins
I have never wrote a comment here or any other blog but I have to say that i cried so much reading this. I just know now that I want to be like your mom.
So ~ here I take a Glennon “break” at work to regroup… now I have tears of joy and pain running down my face. I want a Mama, I digress, so, instead ~ I need to become a better Mama… a Mama that my kids will feel this way about….
This past Sunday in church, there was a lady from the congregation who told a story. At first it was about how she as a mother wasn’t seen or heard by her family. Then one night at dinner with her girlfriend who had just returned from a trip, while this woman barely was able to put together a clean outfit, was given a book. The book that the friend gave her was of all the cathedrals, cathedral that took hundreds of years to be built and under each picture “builder unknown”. How each of those cathedrals were hand carved by people who would never seen the finished product in their lifetime, or that they would be recognized for thier work, but they built it anyway. And she drew this parallel to motherhood. That we are the great builders of our children. That our work oftern goes unnoticed, unrecognized, but will continue to be built long after our passing and will continute on to our grandchildren and great grandchildren. So in essence, your mom built a great legacy with you and sister, the foundation that she laid out and you have continued to build upon. Great job momma, we see you, we see Glennon, and we see the legacy in your grandchildren. Much love!
I somehow missed this post when you put it up and just found it this morning. This is amazing. Simply amazing.
So true, meaning I could hear the truth, So very heartfelt, honest and beautiful. Thank you for sharing this with us. I was in tear through out the entire thing.
I echo the many sentiments above, this is so beautiful and I read it through tears streaming down my face. What a beautiful gift you have given her. She must have been a fantastic Mom to have a daughter turn out like you 🙂
I loved meeting your mama. She sounds just like my mama. I miss her alot. Hope you all had a wonderful Mother’s Day.
Such a hearty tribute! I missed my mom after reading this… Thank you for sharing your mom and her lovely spirit with all of us! Hugs!
WOW! Wow! So Awesome I am at a loss of words.
In the beginning part of your mothers Bio, I can relate immensely to where you had mentioned a response of your mother stating she had basically wished she had done something great.
I had mentioned that to my oldest daughter when I had shown her print out of a few poems I plan on binding for a book.
I had told her I am conducting this book for you as well as your brothers and sisters. So if any of you were to be asked a question, what did your mom do? you wouldn’t have to respond saying nothing.
I have also been through an addiction, that inspires me more with what you had shared.
Thank you
Thank you for sharing this.
What a treat! THANK YOU !
Thank you so much for introducing your Mama to us- I loved meeting her. She’s is clearly a gem!!
What a beautiful tribute to your mom. Thank you for sharing with us and for letting us meet such a wonderfully generous, loving, kind, human being. Happy Mother’s Day to her and all of us ❤️
Wishing ALL of you amazing mothers out there a wonderful Mother’s Day! You have THE HARDEST, least appreciated job on earth! Each of you has my utmost respect & admiration – putting my own mother at the top of that list for raising 8 children (6 boys & 2 girls) & to this day says she’d do it all over again! GOD BLESS ALL MOMS!
Thank you so much for sharing this post! I’ve been crying my eyes out since I read it – crying because it speaks of how my heart feels towards my own mom, and crying because I hope one day my girls will feel this way about me. It’s easy to feel unimportant doing the “mundane” everyday tasks of being mom. But there is no value I could begin to place on how much I appreciate all the “ordinary” ways my mom has loved me. So I will find joy in loving my girls the best I know how, and passing on the love my mom has given to me.
My youngest daughter just sent this to me for Mother’s Day and I would rather have had this than a million dollars, for there is no price tag on your children or their feelings. Happy Mother’s Day to All !!!
Thank you, G, for sharing this amazing story of your mother with us. Having met her once, I can only say that her kindness and strength is palpable. She makes everyone around her better just by being in the room. Happy Mother’s Day!
just beautiful. Show up. Be there. Share love. Walk your people home. God Bless you and your mama.
A great tribute to your Mother! Was hard reading through the tears leaking from my eyes. Your Mother sounds like an Angel on earth. Mine was too, but now she is in heaven. I miss her so much, I wish I could have been strong enough to give a eulogy for her. Thank you for the great read!
My son just asked me ‘Why are you reading this if its making you cry?’. And I said because this is good crying. This is breaking your heart open with love and it hurts but it is so beautiful. Thank you Glennon!
Read this with tears streaming down my face! I work as a chaplain at a hospital and so I spend a lot of time hearing stories of heartbreak, loneliness and anger. Your mom’s story is a reminder of all the best there is in the world. She’s the kind of mother we should all aspire to be. I especially love the line about beginning again and doing it together. Thank you for sharing so beautifully!
This…I mean, c’mon…I think this is the most beautiful thing I have read in a loooooong time. Thank you for sharing these heartfelt words .
Amen! Took my breath away!
Thank you….for those precious words….I lost my mother over 10 years ago and her birthday was yesterday. With mother’s Day approaching, it is always a difficult time as even after all these years, I still feel the physical pain of losing her.
Not only do I wish I could have articulated my thoughts as well you did, but your story wants me to continue her legacy of loving everyone. That was the one theme at her funeral when so many spoke about her….no matter what….she loved people fiercely and unconditionally….that is a legacy of your mom (and mine) and helps us to continue that legacy. Thank you for your post…:)
~wow Glennon, just w o w.
I read every siiingle thing you ever write and I love it all… but this?
This love letter to your Momma was the single most heart wrenchingly beautiful
words you’ve ever penned.
Happy Mothers Day beautiful friend, xox
G,
Longtime follower of you but this is my first time responding. Thank you so much for this post. Just lost my mom 9 months ago and she in many ways was just like your mom…..always giving and wanted nothing more than to be with her family. It is women like your mom and my mom that inspire me to be a better mom, friend, sister, and wife. Thank you again for this.
How blessed you are to have eachother. Such a beautiful post!
Just wondering, did you ever blame or manipulate your mom when you were in the throes of addiction and how did she handle it? She sounds like a wonderful woman, and I’m so happy that you are sober to enjoy all she is.
My mother, who never finished her college degree, has always felt as though she has not been a good role model to me and my sister. While I, with a Masters degree, have always been in awe of the amount of things, time and love she gives to others. “What accomplishments. What big shoes to fill”, I’ve thought. She’s the matriarch, the communicator, the connector. She is our family’s skeleton – she provides the support so that we can stand tall. Thank you for articulating this most important thing that I have always felt and wished to express to her but have never been able to find the words.
What a beautiful tribute to your amazing mother. It brought tears to my eyes! #brilliantblogposts
So beautiful!!!
Beautiful! You are very lucky. And so is your mum.
Oh Glennon,
The other morning I woke up, rolled over to get my iPad and started scrolling through Facebook, as is my morning habit. I clicked the link to your tribute to your mom and eventually my husband rolled toward me and said, “Are you CRYING?!” What a beautiful essay about and for your beloved mom. I’m going to share this with my mom, whom I feel exactly the same way about. And thank you also for quieting that little part of my mind that wonders from time to time if raising three kids and supporting one family and loving a bunch of friends is enough, after quitting my 14-year corporate career to do so. Of course it is, but it is a quieter story.
Love your writing and your inspiration and your kindness.
Xoxo,
Jeanne
Beautiful. Love the pictures!
Hard to read through all these tears…
Beautiful. Can’t stop crying.
Such a tribute to your Mom. Amazing words, amazing story, amazing bond. So thankful to have your words in my life.
Wow. Just wow. This made me cry. It’s so beautiful & true. I wish I still had my mom. I lost her when I was 13, which was very hard. I have something to strive for–to be more like your mother. 🙂 Thanks for your beautiful writing.
Thank you.
I think this is the best thing you have ever written. And you’ve written some amazingly awesome things. So…this = the most amazingly awesome of the amazingly awesome. Whew. Thanks.
This article is such a blessing to all who read it. Such love we all aspire to give as well as we all aspire to appreciate in others . This should be required reading by all persons who have a baby, by all persons going to college, by all persons who are arrested . If they missed the love, they can visualize it here and create it in their own lives permanently .
I haven’t been so affected by a piece of writing in a long time. Thank you.
Thank you so much for this. I can do better because of it. I will do better because of it. Xxooxxooxxooxxoo love
Oh G,
You are amazing, this was absolutely beautiful! I’ve cried so hard with happiness joy and love for my children and my mom. What a wonderful, loving, giving, kind mother you have. I’m sure that we all feel like her at times, but you put it all in a beautiful perspective. Every family needs at least one person like your mom, to love so unconditionally. I love you and your people G, and thank you for knowing just how to touch a deep part in all our hearts! <3
Thank you G! This is such an amazing beautiful testimony to your mother. I am weeping at my kitchen table but am inspired to open my heart to family despite being scared of getting hurt me because it’s the right thing to do for my children.
What beautiful, beautiful words. A better tribute to a mom cannot possibly exist. You have described exactly the kind of mother and sister I aspire to be every day. If I can have half the impact on my two girls as your mother has had on you, I will have done well.
Your story is beautiful! What a wonderful mother you have!!! I fall short of that measure as a mother myself–but I am not done trying yet, either, so I suppose “the jury is still out” on that one. My own mother left MANY scars on me, together with a few positive things–so I basically “started from scratch” in figuring out what kind of mother I MYSELF wanted to be. It has taken DECADES of growth, and I’m still working on it–but there is no higher goal than to be the personification of self-giving, other-affirming, creative love!
I can’t tell my mother that she is the best, most amazing person ever to have lived, so I will share this fact with all of you.
Hello, G. Your article was lovely and moving and made me desperately miss my mom. But, one of the most amazing things to me was the level of intelligence and thoughtfulness your readers expressed in their comments. I believed the things you shared were perfect and that nothing could be added to your beautiful descriptions of your mother and her loving actions toward her family. Then, I began reading the comments and realized that loving mothers were everywhere, including my life and those of my brothers, with a mother who was our biggest fan, champion and supporter. Her unconditional love and selfless nature were offered to everyone she met. One of the eulogists at her funeral said she was the only person he had ever known who had no guile. Thank you for this tribute to your mother and the inspiration it has given each of us to recognize the love of our own mothers.
Damn it! I have tried three times to get through this with out sobbing, first on the commuter train, second at work, and finally late at night at home I made it through.
This was a sign for me…thank you G, thank you God.
I am so beyond blessed to have an amazing Mom who is my best friend and also to have the privilege of being Momma to the most amazing daughter.
I can’t even start to tell you how this speaks to me in so many different areas of my heart, once I get my vision and focus back from crying I am going to re-read and re-read and re-read it like I do with so many of your posts.
Thank you G from the bottom of my heart for sharing this. And many blessings to you, your Mom and your sister ox
Mother Theresa once responded: “What can you do to promote world peace? Go home and love your family.” Look at the impact your mother has had by simply loving her family — creating the environment for her loving people to be encouraged and inspired to be kind and make the world a better place. And how, after inspiring you to share her story, you remind us to prioritize the peace of kindness and gracious appreciation of others. You’ve made the world a better place, Patti. The world of your people and so many others. Thank you.
Dear G,
My mama, also named Patti, died in May 1973 when I was 17 years old. She was only 40, and so dearly loved by all that knew her. Thank you for your eloquent reminder of all that makes our moms the Super Heros of the world!
With Love
Lisa
This is simply beautiful. How lucky you are – all of you, whose lives have been molded and shaped and touched by this incredible lady. What a legacy. I was lucky too. I had a mom that I’m sure God let me handpick. I lost her 4 years ago and this post touches that tender spot that always aches. Thank you for loving your mom so much and for letting us read the book she wrote. I can see why you have become so brave. After all, who can be afraid when she knows her mama is “packing”.
I’ve never cried so much reading a blog post. And I will call my Mom tomorrow. thank you.
What a beautiful amazing tribute to your Mom! I think your Mom and my Mom are quite similar…raised in a small town in Ohio, family of 7, sweetest person you could ever meet. My Mom learned from her Mom and I learned from both of them. Family is always first and creating a legacy of love and support is what we will pass down to our kids. Beautiful!
Genius. And such a moving and loving tribute to an amazing woman and mama.
Quite possibly one of the most beautiful things I have ever read written about another human being.
I want to be a mom, sister, wife, and friend like her.
oh my gosh, I’m crying. You are so lucky to have such an incredible mother. Mine died early, alcohol, mental health issues, cancer, you name it. Tell your mother I said she is the best mother I ever heard of. What a beauty, inside and out.
Oh my I am weeping……a friend just sent this to me because she knows hoe much of a struggle the month of May is for me. This….this could almost be my mom who has been tine for 14 years on May 27. She was 55 years old and her funeral was held on her 56th birthday. She was an amazing woman. Full of life and light and laughter and love. And yet, she would have been the first to say that she wasn’t a world changer. The 400 people who attended her wake would have disagreed with her. She taught my brother and I love. You clearly have an amazing mother ….. treasure her as I know you do.
Hey G,
I agree. This may be one of the best things you have written. I shared it with my mom today and we have both cried. You put into words for me how I love and adore my mom. Thanks!
So beautiful, G. I have always felt lucky to be your Mama’s friend. I’ve never wondered why, because Patti is so dear and thoughtful and wise. You’ve put it so well; she is kindness incarnate. She is. Aren’t we lucky to have her? So much love to you on Mother’s Day. Cookie
This is just beautiful! What an amazing Mother you have!
I haven’t seen your mom in such a long, long time. But, I remember her as a woman of grace and a woman with a wonderful soul. You are so blessed to have her as your mom…..to guide you, to teach you and to just love you.What an amazing role model for you…what an amazing lady.
I seriously am not certain how I came upon this most beautiful tribute to what has to be a most wonderful mom. While reading this I was responding to a message my niece sent and was crying to the point of not seeing some of her words. Her mom, my sister, died suddenly last October. We both admit to some OK days and not so good days. The loss is so raw and painful—-yet we know in faith we will meet again. I will somehow have my niece read this and be comforted that she loved and let her mom know how loved she always was—this tribute could have been our Mary Ellen. We never know how long someone is with us. Thanks for sharing and urging each of us to love in the precious time we have…thank you!!!
I wish i had that connection with my mum, but i dont, reading this made me cry… this is who i want to be for my children … i am their safe place.. i hope i always will be.
What a well written tribute to your mom G!
She’s the original warrior of love! Reminds me so much of my Mom. They’re such blessings for us. Thanks for sharing and I hope you have a happy Mother’s Day too!
Jeez…could I cry any harder! I would love to have had this mom in my life. I can only strive to be this mom for my kids to change the patterns in our family! Thanks for sharing the beautiful tribute to your mama!
Oh my. This is one of my favorite things you’ve ever written- and that is really saying something. Perfection.
agreed!
What a beautiful story The love of a child for its mother is so pure and sent from God above. I doubt there will be a dry eye on this whole page. Thank you for sharing. I miss mine everyday.
I’m sitting in the bathroom crying because I couldn’t keep the tears away this time. Sine are for the sheer wonder of the story you share: a remover that no matter how hard things are, you just have to keep showing up. Some are for the very strained relationship with my mother – something I never imagined as possible when I was younger that I recognize as a sad fact as an adult. And some…some are because I’m so tired, Glennon. The last several years have felt like one crisis after another, & the last year in particular has tested my resolve on so many levels.
Last June, at a routine allergy testing, my daughter (then 12), had a seizure. The doctor wrote me off as a hysterical mom & also disrespected his nurse by ignoring her when we tried to tell him it was a seizure. He argued it was a vaso-vagal reaction (basically fainting) & that she had probably just been afraid of the needles. I firmly explained that she’d never been afraid of needles & that I knew it had been a seizure, but he ignored me & I was too busy to argue further as I was trying to help my baby be okay after what was, for her, the most frightening experience of her life. I’ve never been more scared in my life than I was that day, either. And in an odd twist of fate, my partner, her Godmother, wasn’t at that appointment. We had a lot to do, & I had felt okay enough to go on my own.
Six hours later, she had a rebound seizure in the car outside Wendy’s where we were going for dinner. I’d been on the phone with my Dad since I’d missed him the day before on Father’s Day, & I scared him by saying I needed to go to call 911. By the time I was connected with EMS, K was already coming to again, & Rin & I decided we could likely get to our preferred hospital before EMS would get to us, assess the situation, & have us on the way, so that’s what we did. Four hours later, around 3am, the ER doctor walked in looking as though he’d put on an invisible suit of armor, & I remember noticing that & wondering if something bad had happened elsewhere in the ER since he’d last come in. Isn’t it funny how the mind works sometimes? I never considered he had armored himself to come tell -US- something.
To his credit, he was trying hard to be as reassuring as possible given the situation, but my heart stopped somewhere around, “we found something on the CT scan,” skipped a few extra beats around, “I don’t want to tell you it’s nothing, because it’s obviously something, but it’s nothing” (i.e. your child does not have a tumor, it’s just a cyst), & I’m honestly not sure at this point if my heart has properly returned to beating again. The CT had found a 1.5cm x 2cm cyst in her right temporal & parietal lives. He explained everything he could (because, amazingly, the possibilities are endless when it comes to cysts filled with cerebral spinal fluid in the brain), & referred us to, in his opinion, the best neurologist in town.
I felt shell shocked, yet I somehow managed to keep myself together for my daughter, because to that point, she’d mostly just been scared of having another seizure (because lack of control of her body is a major thing for her), but she was finding the science bits of the ER trip to be pretty cool. (She amazed & wowed her nurse & the radiology folks with her eagerness to learn about their “doughnut”.) Being told you have a thing in your brain is obviously terrifying, but if her moms manage to keep their cool, she usually does pretty well, too. Her being exhausted I think also kept her from too much freaking out. We left the ER around 4 am Tuesday morning, & were in the neurologist’s office by Thursday afternoon. (The quick specialist turn around time was both amazing & terrifying, to be honest.)
Her neuro is great, & she was amazing with us & K, taking effort to ensure she felt as though she were part of the conversation. We had so many questions, & Dr. T-R answered as best as she could while also being very clear that not only were the odds of K seizing again over 80%, but that she most likely already had been because the type of seizure from that part of the brain is called “partial complex”, & they are difficult to spot unless you know what to look for. She wanted to start K on meds that night with a slow, steady titration schedule to reach the dose the Dr wanted her to try. Rin & I asked if she didn’t want to wait until the next week after the MRI & EEG were completed. (By grace of Creator, K & I share a PCP, & I’d had an appointment with her on Tuesday, which allowed Doc to send those orders in even before we saw the neuro, because sooner is better for a post-seizure EEG.) Dr. T-R answered that there was nothing those tests would show that would change her diagnosis.
We discussed it & went ahead & started her on the medication that night which made the seizure she had the following Wednesday when the MRI tech had to flush her IV line much shorter & with a shorter post-seizure recovery time.
The journey from there has been difficult. She’s always had ADD symptoms, but I wanted to avoid medicating her as long as possible. Learning more about her main seizure type has both explained a lot of things, but has also thrown a lot more questions up (as well as a lot of Mama Guilt for me because a lot of the super frustrating things we’d been dealing with in terms of her concentration, doing her chores, & everything else were now known to be not just age & ADD, but also that she’d likely been having seizures for at least 3 years).
We were also referred to a pediatric neurosurgeon, because while Dr. T-R felt surgery wouldn’t be needed & likely would not be a good idea, she wanted a second opinion about how often we should be getting MRIs, & basically, to bring in another expert in order to be thorough. We saw the neurosurgeon in October, & that day, I had to quell the Anxiety Monsters so I didn’t start screaming hysterically.
Dr. S, the head of pediatric neurosurgery at Riley Children’s Hospital in Indianapolis, was who we were sent to see, & she had NO idea what we’d been told about surgery, so she came in armed with the MRI images & tales about how often she’s performed surgery on cysts like K’s, & how if they can prove through further testing the seizures are caused by the cyst, then surgery would both make them stop & eliminate K’s need for medication as well.
She realized she had hit all three of us with a proverbial brick, & so she backed up to explain things a bit more thoroughly, & to perform a physical exam with K. Once that was completed, K was sent to go meet the other office staff & get stickers while the adults got into the details.
Rin point blank asked Dr. S if there was anything I could have done to cause the cyst, & she was quite clear in dissecting & explaining that particular Mommy Fear with a quick, “no, this likely formed as her CNS was formed in utero, & in fact many people have cysts like this & never know it.”
She explained in detail every test that would be performed before we ever seriously discussed surgery, from an fMRI to make a map of K’s brain, a 4-5 day in hospital ambulatory EEG where she’d be in a suite at the hospital where she could play video games, watch TV, etc. while wearing the EEG equipment, being recorded the entire time (except when she was in the restroom), & being taken off of her meds. The goal is to see what type of seizure activity might be going on & where it might be coming from. The last part is a full psychological & neurological test battery, designed to a) give a baseline of her personality & b) to see if there are things that are underdeveloped or abnormal because of the cyst. She also explained that two things would speed this process up: growth of the cyst & a steady increase in K’s seizure meds. (In some cases, kids with this type of cyst end up plateauing at the top dose of one medication & start to need multiple meds & that causes it’s own basket of issues).
If we get to the point of discussing surgery, a map of K’s brain will exist to let Dr. S know exactly where the excision should be, down to fancy GPS coordinates to guide her tools. She assured us that as soon as they start walking to the OR, K becomes her daughter & she would be handled accordingly (which was oddly reassuring that day, likely because it means that she sees my baby as a person, not a condition, & not as another notch on her surgical list). But, oh gods, was I scared. We all were; we’d walked in expecting to learn how often K needed MRIs & walked out having been hit with a metaphorical ton of bricks.
At first, my brain kept screaming, “NO! YOU WILL NOT CUT INTO MY BABY’S HEAD!”; however, as I thought about it more & more, & as we started examining more of K’s behaviors, I realized that the answer I needed to come to was not the primal screaming of my inner primal cavemom, but the more logical voice that was saying, “The only choice is, ‘what’s best for K?”. I made peace with that choice a couple of months later while talking to my massage therapist during a session. I’m still utterly terrified by the idea, but if I had the ability to stop the seizures & the fear they bring my daughter as well as to stop the mental issues that seem to be worsening (there are days that even giving her a written list doesn’t help her remember things), then that is the choice I’ll make.
Less than a month after that first appointment, we had to increase K’s dose by a half pill morning & night, & she was so afraid that meant surgery right away. We’ve done a lot of talking, the three of us, about what surgery could mean & things that could be a lot better & easier if the cyst is thcause of the seizures. But, in the last 4 months, things have been worsening again in terms of her attention, her ability to focus, & similar things. She’s been talking to a counselor, & even he’s told her that she has to stop letting fear of having a major seizure & fear of surgery from completely overwhelming her. We’ve also begun to suspect that she -knows- she’s having more seizures again but she’s refusing to tell us.
And with all of this, there’ve been so very many other things, that it’s all so overwhelming. And I think the main reason I was crying was because we go back down to Indy tonight (we live 3+ hours away), so we can be there for a 9am MRI followed by an 11 am follow up with Dr. S on Thursday, & I’ve been dragging my feet on getting things together & leaving because I’ve been letting anxiety & fear eat me alive. And when I started writing this (I’ve been working on my phone & had to stop for a few things, but I’ve put in about an hour of frantic typing) a couple of hours ago, I’d meant to say the first little bit & then a short bit about going to a specialist appointment for my 13 year old, & being afraid. Yet, I’ve ended up writing all of this out for people I don’t know, & even though it’s so, so long, I’m afraid to delete it because it’s the first time I’ve really been able to write about all of the pieces at once. I know that we’re going to talk to Dr. S about getting started with testing no matter the outcome of the MRI, because her Godmother & I aren’t sure how much longer we can handle the child K is becoming without SOME kind of change. (We homeschool, which is both a benefit given the cognitive changes K’s gone through & a downside because it means that some days we are constantly butting heads as K forgets to do more & more things & does a crappy job with the things she is remembering to do.) But I also have a suspicion/fear that the cyst has grown…& I’m so damn scared, ya’ll.
So…if you made it all the way through this, & you have some prayers, thoughts, good energies to spare, please send them K’s way. Her other mum & I could use them, too, but it’s my baby I’m most worried about because contemplating brain surgery at thirteen isn’t easy. And if this is filled with typos & autocorrect “corrections”, please forgive me. I am usually much better at checking on these things, but today I’m so worried I’ll just delete it all in a fit of unworthy embarrassment that I’m afraid to go back over it. And if you have any spare words of encouragement I could use them. My email address is brekkeferguson [AT] Gmail, which I almost never share anymore, but I trust G & her Monkees. Forgive me for the length…but thank you for the forum.
~Brekke
Brekke,
There are no typos. There is a mother load of love in your essay. Everyone who reads it, and that will be many, will stop and say a prayer for K and you and wonder at your ability to keep yourself together in the face of so much fear and emotional pain.
“G and her Monkees” I’m sure are proud to be considered worthy of your trust.
Bubba
Prayers for you and all your people Brekke
Hi Brekke,
I am so sorry you are going through this with your sweet girl. It sounds so scary. I typed like you during a very frightening time in my life. I had just gotten my iPhone and I didn’t know how to scroll backwards to edit so I just kept typing. Then I pressed send. It was like a prayer.
I was then paralyzed with the fear that everyone would think I was so stupid and leave mean replies. But real Monkees are kind – especially online. I guess I needed to experience that for myself.
Thank you for letting us know how we can pray for and support and encourage you. Btw my son is now home-schooled for medical reasons just like K. He is 16. You and I are home-school mommies!
We just prayed for you and K and God mom.
Know that you and your family are loved and cared about.
Love, Bridget
Prayers are with you and the family and your decisions. “two are better than one…If one falls down, His friend can help him up.” Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 I am a retired Pediatric nurse and know how difficult and scary things can sound to parents. It was so wise to get a second opinion to have all the information to make a right choice for your daughter. I think you were led to call on others for prayer…thanks for trusting. georgia
Thank you Brekke, for sharing K’s story and your bravery. I’m a die-hard Monkee and am sending you prayers for K’s doctors to bring a full recovery to her beautiful self. You are brilliant – remember, “We Do Hard Things.” Love, Cookie
Sending you and your family prayers and a ton of love. ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you for sharing your journey.
Brekke, you were brave and strong and honest to write this. It is my privilege to pray for you and your family.
Oh my goodness! You are loved. Wishing you all strength, courage, and peace.
I stumbled upon this article on accident. But then after controlling the tears i read your comment (and they started again). I wish your family well today and everyday moving forward. I pray for good results, calmness, and extra strength. You sound like a strong and loving momma. If i have half this strength and love with my daughter. Thank you for sharing your story. You both pour your heart out. God bless
I don’t know you, but I read your post, and I know what it means to have tremendous fear–and ultimately, great love–all mixed up together. I just want to tell you FROM EXPERIENCE that faith in God WORKS MIRACLES!!! (Actually, God works the miracles, and faith is the “pipeline” by which that power comes into YOUR life.) My circumstances were different–but I raised a daughter as a single parent from when she was 4 until she graduated college. Most of that time, I was in school, so money worries were horrendous, plus the usual worries about raising a child on one’s own, far from family. (She was diagnosed with ADD in her 20’s–but in retrospect, I never knew it when she was a child. But it was a good thing that she was my only child, so she got the individual attention she needed.) Plus, I was unemployed or underemployed or back in school for 5 years after she graduated high school, so I had problems of my own to deal with during her college years and beyond. But now she is happily married and working part-time while being a stay-at-home mom most of the time with their baby daughter. She is also finishing up a doctoral dissertation (in physics, of all things!).. . My ONE dependable rock, when raising my daughter, was God–and he so CAME THROUGH on all the things I begged him for, for my daughter!! So look at our lives and ask God to astound you and your family in equal measure, in your own lives and situation!!!
God is all knowing awesome and faithful! Keep looking up He wrote her story and has awesome plans for her and you. You are doing great work good and faithful servant, take courage and lean into Jesus he will carry you! Lifting you and K up to Jesus and miraculous healing.
It takes monumental courage to walk the path of the unknown and to trust. Your ability to relay your experience so fully and beautifully with emotional depth tells me you are present and prepared to do whatever is necessary for your loving girl. The physicians are with you and the Universe had led you in the direction you and Brekke need to do this journey. Continue to trust you and Brekke are being taken care of in a way which supercedes logic and is powerful and grounding. Even if you have no belief in something greater then believe in your instincts as a mother to have led you to exactly the best place to be for the process.
Many blessings and I shall keep you both in my nightly prayers.
Veronicac
Prayers and love to your family….
This is my favorite thing you have ever written. EVER. You put into words perfectly the way I feel about my own mother. She has always said she feels inadequate in her life in so many ways. She’s “just a secretary,” “doesn’t volunteer,” and is always “sorry the house is so messy.” I’m constantly homesick for her messy house that is bursting at the seams with Cat Stevens blaring from the record player, huge pasta dinners, afternoons lounging and chatting on the couches, and the sound of her quick feet coming down the hall to make coffee in the morning. In THAT house she spent hours volunteering to rock her babies, to help with homework, to listen to every detail of the school day, to unconditionally love her handsome but sometimes difficult husband, to mend broken hearts of teenage daughters, and welcome college friends home with a hot lasagna and hug them as if they were her own. When I packed my car for the last time in her driveway to move across country to be with my own husband and start my grown up life, I packed every little bit of her love with me. Like Glennon described, never for a second in my life have I ever felt anything less than cherished and adored by my mama.
SO BEAUTIFUL! The first time I have read any of your work. I do believe that I am hooked!
Dearest Glennon,
Forget flowers, forget dinners out, forget even jewelry (and I DO love jewelry!). You have just given your wonderful mother the greatest of all gifts…an appreciation so heartfelt, so full of the EVIDENCE of her beauty and devotion, that this is a treasure she will savor for the rest of her life. It is a masterpiece – something that every one of us who is a mother or aspires to be – can use to remind ourselves of what it is all about. Thank you, Glennon, for once again using your words to create such inspiration. To your dear mother, who I am happy to know, congratulations, Patty! You have borne and raised two beautiful, extraordinary women – and I know that first hand. Hugs to all of you! Tina
I wish to have my mamma here by my side!!! I miss her a lot!!! Your story touched me!!!