My hero

We all have a tendency to take things and people around us for granted. Simple things like a beautiful day in the fall, a home cooked meal, the first snow of the season or a comfortable bed. Even people who have been there for us for as long as we can remember. People who woke us up every morning, people who let us cry on their shoulder when we had a broken heart, people who stayed up with us all night while studying for an important test and people who took care of us when we were sick. For me, my mother is that person.

It was not until I moved out of my childhood home and only came home on the weekends, and lastly moved halfway across the world, that I realized how much she was and still is there for me and everything she did and still does for me. Now that I am older – and as I like to believe wiser – I like to relive memories, good and bad, of the relationship with my nurse, cook, friend, critic, supporter and teacher – and she taught me a lot.

My mother always wanted me to be fit and healthy and educated. When I was in pre-school she got me involved in early musical education and English. With elementary school came judo and handball practice. The summer before I started fifth grade, after months of begging, she let me drop judo from my schedule but at the same time she enrolled me in tennis lessons. A few years later I also dropped handball. I had to stick with tennis though – and I grew to love it. Even though it might not have been her intention, she taught me that you have to try new things in order to know what you like and what you don’t like, what you want and what you don’t want.

In my family, my mother was always the one to get things started when something had to be done. I remember endless hours of picking out flooring and couches and cupboards and wallpaper and paint. And when she had finally picked everything out, it was the two of us who redid almost the entire living and dining room. One day we took the curtains down and tore off the old wallpaper in the dining room, the next day we started to put the new wallpaper up. Then we painted for two days. And we had so much fun. When all the walls were done, my father joined us to put the new floor in and when he got frustrated with it, my mother and I did the rest. I still dislike shopping for furniture with my mother a lot, but I love to take on new projects with her. Not only did she teach me how to paint and put up wallpaper, she also taught me that you have to take matters into your own hands when you want something to get done.

When I started driving and celebrated my new freedom, my joy was cut short. I had to call my mother all the time. When I got to a friend’s house, when I arrived at school, when I was on my way back from the club – no matter where I was going, I had to call. But then after I moved out, I started calling even though I didn’t have to. I called when I was heading home for the weekend because I knew it would make her happy to know that I was on my way. I called when I got stuck in traffic, so she wouldn’t worry. I called when I was going to hang out with a friend because I knew she would like to know where I am and what I am doing. And I wanted her to know – because she taught me the importance of family and that there will always be people who care and worry about you.

She taught me to be polite, respectful and friendly to everyone, even when they are not. She taught me that every decision and action comes with consequences, positive or negative, and that you have to take responsibility for such. And she taught me that letting go is never easy. Whether you move out, your child moves out, you lose a friend over a fight, or a loved one.

I didn’t always appreciate everything my mother would do for me – and I regret that. If it wasn’t for her, I would not be who I am today. I would not have achieved all the things I have and I am forever grateful for everything she did and how she raised me. She is an astonishing mother and I should tell her more often that she is, in fact, my hero.

© TH

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Ella Sander

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