On Fridays, a bunch of writers set the clock and write for 5 minutes, no edits, just writing, throwing perfectionism out the window. Completely cray-cray, right? Yes, well, the prompt this week is the word SHE.
She was always there for us when we were kids. Always. Waking us up for school. Always making sure we had a hot breakfast. Always there for us after school.
She was there when my dad was away traveling, which was often. She put up with so much crap from us, all three of us. Well, very little crap from my little brother—mostly from my older brother and me.
She prayed without ceasing for us kids as we were growing up and for my Dad and so many others. I remember seeing that little plastic set of praying hands sitting on the window sill over the sink—the ones that held the list of people she prayed for as she slaved away over the dishes.
She trusted me as a kid, as a teenager. I have no idea why, but I felt it from her. I never wanted to let her down, though I know I did, many times.
Though she tends to live her life in a reserved, sit back and take it all in, kind of way, I remember how she would laugh hysterically with me in the aisles of the Hallmark store at those crazy cards that struck us both as so funny. People would stare at us as we laughed till we cried. But we didn’t care.
She takes care of people. Always has. And now she takes care of my two grandmothers who are both in their 90s. Without complaint. And thinks of their needs before her own.
She has spent her life doing that—taking care of others before herself, leaving her very little time for a life of her own. But it’s what she does. She is a godly woman. She’s a wife. She’s a mom. She’s a grandma. She’s a giver. She is filled with integrity. She is an example to me. She is my friend.
She is my Mama. And I love her.
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