— Stephanie to her mother in the hospital waiting room
I sat in the hospital waiting room, my fingers fidgeting with the edges of my phone. The text I'd just sent to my mother glowed on the screen: "Remember, this is just a moment. Not tomorrow. Just right now."
Her reply came quickly: "Thank you. I needed that. And look who's being the mom now."
That message warmed my heart in a way I can't fully describe. Here was my mother — my hero, my inspiration, the woman who taught me everything about resilience — thanking me for words of comfort I'd learned from her own lips. Life has a beautiful way of coming full circle.
The Woman Everyone Calls Mom
Anyone who gets to know my mother for very long ends up calling her "Mom." It's not just a title — it's who she is to her core. The ultimate nurturer, the fierce protector, the steady hand that guides not just her children but seemingly everyone whose path she crosses.
Growing up, I watched her navigate a world that wasn't always ready for her brilliance. When my grandmother — a woman of incredible foresight — told her, "I really think you should get into this computer thing. It's not much right now, but that's going to be the future," Mom didn't just listen. She took action. She enrolled in every computer science class available at the community college, absorbing knowledge like her life depended on it.
Perhaps it did. Because what followed was nothing short of remarkable.
Breaking Barriers One Keyboard at a Time
I can still picture her describing those early days in her career. There she was, often the only woman at the table, surrounded by men who weren't quite ready to accept that the person who understood the technology best wasn't one of them. But Mom didn't need external validation. She knew her worth.
"Damn independent women," we call ourselves in our family. It's both a badge of honor and an acknowledgment of the double-edged sword that independence can be. Because being self-sufficient sometimes means carrying burdens alone when you don't have to. It took me years to understand this complexity — that strength and vulnerability aren't opposing forces but complementary ones.
When I think of my mother sitting at those tables, standing her ground, knowing her stuff — I see the blueprint for who I wanted to become. Not just professionally, but as a human being.
The Philosophy of Growth
"Chalk it up to a learning experience."
Those seven words formed the cornerstone of Mom's philosophy — one she passed down to me and one I've now passed to my own children. When things went wrong, when mistakes were made, when life threw its inevitable curveballs, this was her mantra.
To chalk something up means to give it power — not the power to defeat you, but the power to teach you. It means flipping adversity on its side and finding the lesson hidden within. It means recognizing that failure isn't final; it's formative.
Finding the Spark
My mother taught me that no matter how dark things seem, there's always a spark of hope to be found. Sometimes it's just a tiny flicker, barely visible through the darkness. But it's there, and once you find it, you can nurture it into a flame.
I see this quality in her now more than ever. Last year, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at 78 years old. My fighting mama, facing the battle of her life with the same dignity and determination she's brought to every challenge. 2024 was a year when sometimes it was hard to just breathe through the pain and uncertainty.
Just when we thought we had things figured out, something new would hit. The cancer was growing despite treatment, and diabetes developed because the pancreas couldn't do its job properly. Emergency surgeries scheduled on the same day as my back surgery, leaving us unable to care for each other — which is what we've always done.
One Foot in Front of the Other
Through it all, Mom has embodied the very lesson she's spent a lifetime teaching me: just put one foot in front of the other, always. No matter what.
On my hardest days, when I feel overwhelmed by life's challenges, I remember what I've already survived. I hear Mom's voice in my head saying, "Chalk it up to a learning experience," and I find the strength to continue.
I don't particularly like the saying "what doesn't kill me makes me stronger," nor am I fond of "God only gives us what we can handle" — because sometimes I think, "I wish He didn't trust me so much." But the truth remains: I've survived it all. We both have.
The Legacy of Love
When I think about my mother's legacy, I don't think about career achievements or material possessions. Her legacy is her family — a line of strong, caring, resilient individuals who all sound suspiciously like her when they speak. If you were to talk to my daughters or my granddaughter, you'd hear echoes of the same values, the same determination, the same outlook on life.
As a grandmother, she's been the epitome of unconditional love. Unlike my own experience — where I was close to my grandpa but not my grandma — my mother has shown me what a grandmother's love should look like. She's always there for her grandkids, dropping anything and everything when they need her. She's formed beautiful, unique relationships with each one, tailored perfectly to their individual needs and personalities.
When I ask myself what purpose my mother has served in this world, the answer is clear: she came here to help raise this branch of the family tree. To help us evolve. To guide us toward becoming better humans.
The Circle Closes
And now, in this challenging chapter of her life, I find myself returning some of the wisdom she's given me.
"This is just a moment, not tomorrow."
The student becomes the teacher. The daughter becomes the mother. The circle closes, then opens again.
This is the greatest gift my mother has given me — not just the lessons themselves, but the ability to pass them on. To leave people better than I found them, whether that's through a smile, a silly story, or a moment of genuine connection.
My clients often tell me I'm a goofball, and I always respond, "You're welcome." Because life is stressful enough without adding unnecessary gravity to every situation. If I can make you laugh instead of cry, I've done something worthwhile. That's just kind of life, man.
And that, too, is my mother's legacy living through me.