by Beth Hooe Gilbert<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Moms are so important. We do not always realize or necessarily appreciate just how much they sacrifice and give of themselves until we are one. When we are young, we are too young, and when we are teenagers, we are oblivious, almost selfish. It takes some growing up to really value the person who knows you like no one else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I did not understand when I was little how much I needed her. She was there, just there, and I never had to wonder or feel scared that she would not be. It\u2019s kind of like the streetlight that glowed outside my childhood bedroom window. It glowed softly, a constant that I knew would shine though my bedroom window at night, like a nightlight I didn\u2019t know I needed. It felt safe. Having my mom felt safe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Every night she would knock gently on my half-open door. \u201cTime for bed,\u201d she would announce. I was never ready, no matter how early or late it was. She would come in and sit on the bed and tell me a story. Truth be told, my dad was the storyteller of the family, but she tried. The stories felt nurturing like only the way a mom can make you feel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When she sat, the mattress dipped slightly under her weight, and she look at me so lovingly, contemplating the story she would tell, I think. First, however, she would tuck the blankets around my shoulders with exaggerated care, like I was something fragile, smooth my hair back from my forehead. My hair always seemed to be a tangled mess, and still is sometimes. Then she would begin. She never read from a book. She always made them up as she went along. Sometimes I could tell they were real to her, others complete fairytales.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was one about a white rabbit who was afraid of the dark forest but discovered the fireflies were tiny lanterns that guided him home. Another about a cloud that wanted to become a mountain because it was tired of drifting. My favorite was about a small star who thought she wasn\u2019t bright enough until she realized she was lighting the way for someone walking far below.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIs the star real?\u201d I would ask every time, and she would always say yes. She would say it lit our way because all the happy thoughts in the world went to this star. She called the star Harmony. Her extended answer to my question every time was, \u201cif you believe it\u2019s real, then it\u2019s real.\u201d Even now, years later, I can still hear her tell me this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I did not know then that she was teaching me things with those made-up stories. She taught me bravery, patience, and most importantly, believing in myself. I just thought she was good at making things up, but now I know every story had a purpose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By the time I was in high school, she no longer sat on my bed each night. Sometimes she would pause at the door and ask if I needed a story. I usually rolled my eyes and said no to which she would respond with something quirky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The stories are what you miss when you grow up, but know your mom is still near if you really need the advice. It\u2019s really the million and one other things that hit you when they\u2019re gone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mom used to call me to tell me it was raining. I knew it was raining; I was usually driving. It seemed silly of her to have to call, but now I wish I had someone to call to tell me it\u2019s raining. To tell me because they are worried about me. She is always worried. Letting me know the weather was her way of saying \u201cbe careful\u201d without nagging.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was the first one to call me on my birthday, or the first text of the new year. I still wait for those texts and calls that will never come again. I miss someone remembering the important days with awe and excitement just for me. She was right beside me when I had both of my sons, and she was so proud to be a grandmother. She wore that hat very well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Honestly, it did not occur to me until I had my first child that my mom had not just been telling me stories, she was building something inside of me. It was an invisible, steady light to remind myself always that I mattered. In her world, I shined like the star called Harmony. For the first time, I got it, and I wish so badly I could tell her that now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She died peacefully on her terms on an icy February day just shy of her 76th<\/sup> birthday. She missed my dad. She wanted to go home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hope my children know what a bright light they are in my life. I think because of my mom, I had a good foundation to build upon. I want them to know they matter, like my mom made me feel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n You never know when someone\u2019s light will dim. We are never ready to say a final good-bye, but we are so much better for having them in our lives. No one can replace a mom, but we can hopefully carry on her legacy one story at a time.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Beth Hooe Gilbert Moms are so important. We do not always realize or necessarily appreciate just how much they sacrifice and give of themselves until we are one. When […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":23296,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_tec_requires_first_save":true,"_gspb_post_css":"","_EventAllDay":false,"_EventTimezone":"","_EventStartDate":"","_EventEndDate":"","_EventStartDateUTC":"","_EventEndDateUTC":"","_EventShowMap":false,"_EventShowMapLink":false,"_EventURL":"","_EventCost":"","_EventCostDescription":"","_EventCurrencySymbol":"","_EventCurrencyCode":"","_EventCurrencyPosition":"","_EventDateTimeSeparator":"","_EventTimeRangeSeparator":"","_EventOrganizerID":[],"_EventVenueID":[],"_OrganizerEmail":"","_OrganizerPhone":"","_OrganizerWebsite":"","_VenueAddress":"","_VenueCity":"","_VenueCountry":"","_VenueProvince":"","_VenueState":"","_VenueZip":"","_VenuePhone":"","_VenueURL":"","_VenueStateProvince":"","_VenueLat":"","_VenueLng":"","_VenueShowMap":false,"_VenueShowMapLink":false,"_tribe_blocks_recurrence_rules":"","_tribe_blocks_recurrence_description":"","_tribe_blocks_recurrence_exclusions":"","footnotes":""},"essay_type":[46],"essay-category":[91],"class_list":["post-23295","essay","type-essay","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","essay_type-features","essay-category-health-beauty"],"blocksy_meta":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/essay\/23295","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/essay"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/essay"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23295"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/essay\/23295\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/23296"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23295"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"essay_type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/essay_type?post=23295"},{"taxonomy":"essay-category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/essay-category?post=23295"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}