“Happy birthday to youuu!” the family starts to belt out in opera. My mom has told me that the older my aunts get, the worse the singing will be- which isn’t good news for my eardrums. I glance around the room and see the hilarious, loving, fun, and entertaining family gathered around to celebrate someone’s birthday. I’ve always been thankful for the crazy family, even though they are so loud.

I remember observing Mom’s “poofy,” light brown curly hair, with its wild ringlets going every which way. She always looks in the mirror and grumbles “Uggg the hair!” in her voice reserved only for hating on her curls. Sometimes Mom pulls her hair back to mix it up as best as she can, but on this day “the afro” is down. I pay attention to her deep, warm brown eyes that are in perfect proportion to the rest of her slim face. She also has tan, smooth skin with no freckle in sight- unlike me! Since she’s wearing contacts instead of glasses, her slim eyebrows are more visible above her light green eyes. Mom’s mouth is outlined by thin rosy lips and slight wrinkles in the shape of a parenthesis. Her mouth is a large oval as she sings along in out-of-tune opera. A few laughs escape- a loud, somewhat deep chuckle that makes me laugh because it’s contagious. Her body is newly petite, from lack of sleep and an overdose of stress. She heartbreakingly stands with a slight hunch, and Mom’s face seems to be chiseled into a whole new form; it tends to stay in a slight frown like something is always wrong.
Meanwhile, everyone’s voice cracks at the “you” in Happy Birthday and I wince at the sound. I start to think about how Mom has always been there for me. She’s one of the very few people who will always be in my life, no matter what happens or how much time passes. As I get older, it sometimes seems like all teenagers grow away from their parents and push them out of their lives. However, I’ve always valued family because I know that family is irreplaceable. Life is fickle; it can be turned upside down, shaken around, and run over by a ten-ton semi, but life also moves on. To pass over difficult circumstances and be united again with those you love is what life and love is all about.
Mom used to tell me that everything happens for a reason. This simple, somewhat clichéd phrase, actually helped me in those moments of extreme despair. When Mom told me this, we were going through our most difficult journey yet- because life really is a journey. For some reason, that simple phrase reassured us and showed us that everything will be alright in the end. These were the days when we were lost in life’s troubles, which were able to swallow us whole. Mom’s words were one of the many tools I needed to help pull me out of the storm. However, it’s not just a string of words that makes me feel better- it’s hearing them from someone who means the world to me.

Mom’s seen me at my best and at my worst, at my strongest and my weakest. She’s seen me grow from when I was 8 pounds 6 ounces to the modest 5 feet 5 inch woman I am today. She is the one who gave me life and has given me life since the day I was born. Mom’s taken me to the hospital to be diagnosed with type one diabetes and to all my doctor’s appointments since that day- the day that she’s described to be the worst of her life up until that point. I don’t need (and don’t have the paper space) to list all the ways she cares for me and protects me. I admire her for all the things she sacrifices for me.

I appreciate Mom for so many other reasons, though. God knows we are very different, but we manage to understand one another. She’s very extroverted and likes to be the center of attention, as I’m sure she knows. My brother and I can come across as shy, although really we are just introverted. I admire (and envy) Mom’s sense of humor and persona. When we’re with the family, she loves to talk to big groups and does so fluently and without hesitation. She demands the floor without even meaning to. I have this mental picture of her talking extremely loudly while telling a funny story, and she tells it whether she can remember the whole story or not. It’s one of my favorite pastimes to be sarcastic and make jokes about others, and so she knows to simply disregard my sarcastic comments.

Mom’s the kind of person who makes friends with everyone. Simply by going to the grocery, she recognizes multiple people and can carry out a ten minute conversation with each of them. We would walk in, see an old high school friend, a neighbor, or a friend’s friend and she could talk for hours. The only thing that ends the conversation is me, standing there like a child and poking her in the side. I’m also used to hearing her “talk” on the phone. I put the word “talk” in quotations because she really just screams. Mom likes to shout into the phone because the person she’s talking to is so far away, she thinks she has to yell for them to hear her. The way she talks on the phone is like she’s never seen one before in her life. She holds the phone tightly to her ear with her hand firmly gripped around it, and almost screams into the microphone. I may act annoyed, but all the funny things she does only make me love her even more.

At the time of our most difficult journey I could sense her sadness, feel her sadness, and see her sadness. Mom’s body looked decrepit, her face weary, her persona dying. I look back on those days with much sadness, but also relief that they are over and healing has occurred. I can remember when I used to lay in her bed to watch TV at night. I would slowly lift my head and place it down on her stomach in an attempt to feel close to her, and she would reach her fragile hand to my head; a way of silently consoling me. Mom’s hand was extremely wrinkled and bony, but very soft, and her skin was so smooth and delicate. I could breathe in “her smell,” a mix of laundry detergent and soap, which over the years has become a kind of comfort for me. I would just lay there with her small, fragile hand on my head. It would be like nothing bad was going on; I would be oblivious to everything at those moments.

Nowadays we still have these moments of tranquility, just in different ways. Like on those good days when we do something together and share in a common memory, such as going to an art fair and joking about all the weird art that people buy. Or there’s the bad days when we’re struggling to get through the day without attacking each other, but a simple laugh helps us get through the speed bumps. The memories I most treasure with her are the snapshots of those simple, yet blissful moments. Like riding in the car on a beautiful summer day when the perfect song comes on, or watching one of our favorite shows on TV at night. These are the times I’ll treasure most when I think about my memories with her.

I stroll over to Mom while the family finishes off the harmonies, and cover my ears with my palms. She places her hand on my shoulder, and everything seems to be good then. Our relationship has gone through so many difficulties over the past couple of years. But no matter how many mistakes I make or how “done” with me she says she is, she still stays by my side. Because that’s what they say-love endures.