To My Cheerleader

Shortly after I graduated college and started drawing my first "real world" paychecks, I started noticing a change in my mom. She was starting to wear a lot of new clothes. I'd never noticed her being all that interested in clothes or fashion, so when I spied yet another new outfit when I was home for a weekend, I finally asked. And it was a pretty simple answer that I hadn't contemplated much before that point - now that I had graduated and was on my own, my mom had money to spend on herself. And there was just one small insight into much I had never contemplated about my mom and her sacrifices for me and it led me to a conclusion that I would arrive at many, many more times since then - I have by far the best mother in the world.  I know a lot of people say this, I know that today especially it's a sentiment that is said by many, but in my case these are more than simply words. And yet words will never accurately express just how wonderfully strong and loving my mother is. They will never quite capture all the sacrifices she has made for me. They will never tell the champion that she has been for me in all I have tried to accomplish in my life. And they will never, ever, be enough to repay her for being the person that she is to me.  In many ways, I shouldn't be surprised. My grandmother was also the best, and she learned so much from her and clearly inherited her heart, soul and spirit. And when ever someone sees any sort of selfless giving, kindness or generosity in me, they can thank these two women for planting the seed in me that I witness in its full-grown splendor in them.  It amazes me any time I consider what my mom sacrificed and gave to me to try in every way to make my life the best one she could. In a time when the single mom was not common, she blazed the trail in spectacular fashion. She was the best example of sacrifice I will ever find. I'm sure that my mom had hopes, dreams and plans for after college, but I don't know what they were. She edited them when I came along, and never once to me did she complain or ruminate on what might have been. Instead, she did what she could to make the best life for me. She worked, finished school (only a semester late) and took care of me when she was home. She left me in the best care of my grandparents when she couldn't be there.  And this didn't end there. She did all she could to afford private schools for me and to keep me in the dance lessons that I enjoyed. She worked hard, she came home, she cared for me, helped me with homework and repeated that everyday. She sacrificed her social life for me. Everything she did was a strong example for me on how to overcome, succeed, and do the best with what you were given. I learned so much more from her. I learned by her example not to give up even when life deals you a lousy hand. I learned that there is much value to gain from giving rather than receiving. I learned to manage. I learned to judge people by the person that they are and not by the color of their skin, what they wear, where they live or what they can give to me. I learned to be an independent woman. I learned that family matters. I learned how to care. I learned the value of knowledge and education and its value as the one thing that no one can ever rob you of even if they take everything else. I learned what love looks like. And I learned what it means to be selfless.  Life hasn't been easy as of late. Since 1999 my mom has suffered from ulcerative colitis. I watched her in the hospital, scared that I might lose her as they came in to take her vitals far more often than other patients because they were so low. I watched her overcome the extreme blood loss she suffered and continued to suffer from the ulcers. I've had only admiration for how she healed herself with sheer determination at times while suffering from the side effects of medications. And two years ago when she started having extreme fatigue, I watched as she drew from within to fight with her doctors and tell them something wasn't right. I watched her not accept the answers she was given and resolve to solve the puzzle of her health despite the wounding fatigue and then the pain. And when she was diagnosed first with a blood disorder and then with a rare liver disease, it took her a while to admit to me that she had ever asked the question "why me?" even for a few days. She has handled even this chapter that has scared me beyond belief with grace, resolve and dignity.  And when I feel on hard times and finally confessed to my mom my struggles, she supported me without question. She didn't pry and knew that I would tell her what I needed to when I needed. And then when I told her I wanted to make a reckless move to a new city she supported me and enabled me when so many other people didn't understand. And even when I couldn't put voice to my need, she defended me. And even now when times have become even tougher, she's been right here, by my side in spirit, supporting me, helping me and bailing me out yet again.  She's my biggest cheerleader and my one fan on which I can count. And while we both lament that neither of us seems to have much luck, there was one day in my life when I was very lucky - the day that I drew my mom in the lottery of life. Even though I can not adequately convey how much you mean, I love you, Mom. Happy Mother's Day.

A little inspiration at the end of the finish line

Today when my alarm sounded, one of my friends was already up and running.  At 6:30 a.m., she began a 26.2 mile journey from her "pig pen," through the hills and streets of Cincinnati to fulfill one of her dreams. She was going to, from this day forward, be able to use the term "marathon runner" as a badge of honor to describe herself.

And so after I watched the men's marathon winner cross the finish line on television, I got in my car and headed toward her finish line. 

As I found a place to park, I thought about the last time I saw her when she'd just faced one of her last long runs before she began to taper in preparation for today. As we sipped coffee, she was sore and achy, and I couldn't imagine how she was going to get through the heat and humidity that were gracing her race today. And as I thought about what she was doing and the first time we sat over coffee and she put voice to that dream that she wanted to run a marathon and decided which one, I caught a tear running down my face, because it's not often that you get to see someone fulfill their exact dream. She's always been a runner, entering 5K's and more recently a half marathon, but for ages she said that for her to be a marathoner pigs would have to fly, so when she amended her running dream, she found the place where that exactly happened - The Flying Pig Marathon.  The goal was simple, just to finish the grueling race.

As I found the finish line and worked my way up to the ledge of a bridge around U.S. Bank Arena that overlooked the "Finish Swine," I found myself watching so many stories and dreams make there way across that arbitrary point in the pavement. There were the stories that they highlighted on the news, like the woman finisher that vowed 18-months ago to run again after a horrific accident where she was hit by a car while riding her bike. Several surgeries later, she volleyed back and forth in first and second place before she crossed in fourth. But somehow, you could tell that as each and every person running the half-marathon and full crossed that line that there was a story there for them to tell. I watched a man finish and collapse a few steps later - pushing himself to stride across the line no matter what. There were those that were clearly running for causes and people - dressed in shirts that promoted their passion or pointing skyward as they hit the line. I watched children join a parent to jog the last yards across the finish. Many lifting their arms in victory or sharing a high five with the swine mascots, celebrating their personal accomplishments. And each and every one of them, as hundreds (and along the way thousands) watched, had a story. Somewhere during the race they had to draw the strength and courage to keep going and see it through. 

 And after scanning the crowd and watching from above, almost out of nowhere I saw the bright pink socks and then registered the black tank, black running skirt and bandanna and then the face, crossing the intersection and nearing the finish. As I snapped a few pictures hoping that one of them would be good, I felt my eyes well up with tears of pride. It's not often that you see someone live a dream - not a simple easy one, but one that they work for months training for, one that involves sacrifice and one that they play a  mental game with themselves to finish when their body just wants them to quit. And also today I saw pigs and dreams fly, and I'm so happy that I could witness just a little bit of the triumph. 

Congratulations, T. You are an inspiration (even though it will never inspire me to run, it does give me faith and courage to keep running the race of life)!