I have lived a quiet ordinary life. Like most mine was not without its tragedies which I had to learn to overcome. I muddled through my childhood without my beloved father who died when I was eight. Thanks to the courage and love from my mother I adapted to our situation even as I missed the wisdom that my father had always provided me. 

I almost came unglued when my courageous mother broke down twelve years after my father’s death and fell victim to the bipolar disorder that would haunt her for the rest of her life. I had no idea what to do or how to react because I knew nothing about mental illness and my mother had sheltered me from the realities of hardship. Using her example I somehow rose to the occasion and began a journey with her that would last more than forty years. 

Eventually my brothers would become mature enough to help me take care of our mom. We worked together as a strong team motivated by the enduring love and respect that we had for our mother. We had watched her overcoming one obstacle after another to allow us to grow in wisdom and age and grace. Somehow dedicating so much of our adult lives to her never seemed to be a task too difficult to endure even as we sometimes grew weary and sorrowful that such a thing was happening to her. 

I suppose my mother’s influence has run deeply into the direction of my entire life. I became a professional caretaker when I became a teacher. Yes, I was paid for instructing thousands of students in the ways of mathematics but my job became so much more. I learned from the young people who sat in front of me everyday bringing their own worries, tragedies and dreams with them. For most of my career my charges were black and brown skinned children who taught me how to see people without focusing on the color of their skin but on the content of their hearts. I celebrated their cultures and the love that I witnessed from their parents who were just as eager to provide good lives for them as my mother had been for me and my brothers. Mine was a career that gave me so much more than I had to give in return. 

The very day after I formally retired so that I might care for my mother who had been diagnosed with lung cancer she died peacefully like the angel that I knew her to be. Hers was a spiritual death filled with her love at the center of it all. In her final wishes she asked me to keep watch over my brothers and she expressed her hopes and dreams for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She made each of us feel so important even as she was drawing her last breaths. 

From my mother and my beloved students I have learned the importance of what life is all about. While we certainly need money to pay for our needs of food and housing and clothing and such, more than anything we need meaningful relationships with the people around us. iI is important that we value all people regardless of how different they may be from ourselves. It is critical that we share our talents and even our treasure with those who are in need. Most of all we must show our love by protecting the less fortunate no matter how difficult that may be. 

My mother managed to get by on a stunningly low income of one thousand one hundred dollars in her retirement years. She was able to do so because she had paid for her home and she was a genius at staying within a strict budget. She had successfully used her techniques as a young widow but she also managed to give to others who had even less. After her death I was shocked to read the many thank you notes from people and organizations that she had quietly supported with small donations here and there. I realized that her frugality at the grocery store was a means for being able to be charitable. 

I suppose that many ultimately saw only my mother’s quirkiness and mental illness but most realized what an amazing woman she was. Her kindness extended to her neighbors, her coworkers, her church and her extended family. Her closet was filled with thoughtful gifts that she had already labeled for upcoming birthdays and Christmas. She rarely complained about her difficult life or even thought about herself. Instead she expressed gratitude for the life that had brought her so much joy. 

Theses days as I express my support for people who are suffering I do so in honor of my mother. When I protest injustice I am following my mom’s example. When I insist that I am a dedicated American patriot I know that it is true because I learned from my mother how to love this nation that has given us so much and then return the favor by doing everything in my power to keep it free and generous. 

Mama use to get emotional about the United States of America. She was the daughter of immigrants from Eastern Europe. She endured the taunts of neighbors who thought that she and the members of her family were dirty and undeserving of the American dream. They did not know how much love for this nation my grandfather had instilled in his children, but I did. I listened to my mother recounting the depression, the years of Franklin Roosevelt’s presidency, World War II and the pride and gratitude that she felt for being allowed to participate in the grandest promises of our nation. I have no doubt that she would tell me to keep fighting to insure that America remains the land of the free and so I shall do. I am my mother’s daughter.