For My Mother—My Everything

Like any child, I admired my mom—but it wasn’t until I grew up that I truly understood her. I took pride in how interested and supportive she was toward every whim and fancy my brother and I had.
It wasn’t until I turned 21 that I paused to see the struggles and challenges life posed, and how gracefully she was tackling them all. For personal reasons, I took it upon myself to care for my mother and be there for her in every way—a promise I still strongly stand by.

Life is strange; it shows up in ways you least expect. You never fully understand your parents until you become one yourself. As my daughter grows, so much of it makes sense now that it didn’t a decade ago.

But coming back to my mother, a thought struck me recently: while I live in a world full of opportunities and possibilities, where things have progressed so much and we’ve achieved more than we could have imagined, there’s still a constant cycle of self-doubt and endless complaints. Instead of living in the moment, we are forever worrying about the future.

Loneliness and mental health are subjects I don’t recall being discussed until a few years back. We live in a digital world, where every click or swipe can connect us to someone. We have mobile devices and internet access 24/7, television with countless shows and apps—the list is endless. We are so connected to the world, yet many of us live without real connections. Human interactions and experiences are becoming rarer than we imagined.

I started to wonder how my mother, with no outlet and very limited interactions outside home, survived and made it through. I recall those years when it was just my brother and me around her, while my father worked as if there was no tomorrow. She never had friends, we visited relatives only a handful of times, and neighbors were only around to some extent. But this was all she had.

I’ve always had a memory the size of a mammoth, remembering far more than I want to—a subtle curse, perhaps. Even then, I don’t recall a single conversation where my mother looked upset or sad for the life she was living, raising two kids with no support.

Today, at my age, I’m fortunate to have a few genuine friends and family who are my tribe and my everything. But life still feels overwhelming at times, and I’m embarrassed to admit how much I might complain about the small struggles of the present.

Friendships get harder as you age. Making and keeping friends is now a challenge of a whole new level. Finding people with morals, values, integrity, and respect seems increasingly rare.

My mother, for whom so much has changed over the years, never once flinched. I frequently discuss with her how she navigated life with so little and never lost her sanity. I’m endlessly curious about her mental state back then, yet she smiled and happily raised my brother and me as if it were easy.

Her only replies to the toughest questions have always been: “I don’t know,” “I just did,” or “I didn’t think too much.” I simply can’t bring myself to answer so subtly if the question were meant for me.

The reason I’m writing this is simple: just like my mother, countless mothers all around us have sacrificed everything for their children. Their voices are silenced over time, duties, and responsibilities.

If today I am who I am, so much of the credit goes to my mother—the one I still turn to when everything falls apart, who reassures me that everything will be fine.

We don’t need to wait for Women’s Day, birthdays, or anniversaries to make the people in our lives feel truly special and to give them the recognition they deserve.

On a lighter note, it seems like a total coincidence that my parents will celebrate their anniversary in less than a week.

For my mother—my everything.