Dear Mom,

I knew one day I’d have to say good-bye. I just never thought it would be this way. You’re fighting the same battle Dad did 14 years ago.

Today is Mother’s Day. It’s as bittersweet for you as it is for me. But today let’s not dwell on the bitter. Let’s savor the sweet.

As we sat together a few days ago, you said, “I never thought that one day you’d be caring for me.”

My response went something like this:

Do you remember how frightened I was when we had moved away from Salem (Oregon)? I was just seven and completely mortified of the new school: A cold, dark citadel where I’d easily become lost and no one would care if I cried out for help. I knew no one there and I had no friends.

That first day of school was an ordeal. No sooner had I crept up the steps of that old school bus and regarded all of the strange faces looking at me, I was off it and running into your arms.

There would be no school bus that day, or over the next two weeks, for that matter. Instead, with a toddler and infant in your care, you loaded everyone into the 1972 Oldsmobile Ninety Eight land yacht and drove me to school.

If that wasn’t enough, I was too frightened to leave the car. So, you gathered my baby brother in one arm, then took the hand of my younger brother in your free hand and calmly walked me to my new classroom.

If that still wasn’t enough, I fell apart as soon as I took my seat and you turned to leave. I ran to you. With your hands full, you embraced me. To this today, I don’t know how you did that.

Eventually, was I coaxed to join the class by my new teacher, whose caring was almost as fluid and effortless as yours.

But this went on for a week before I could walk to the classroom by myself. By then, I had befriended a chatty boy in my class who had, at least, kept me preoccupied from my fears. Turns out, he rode the same school bus, so eventually I would go to school on my own.

I don’t know how you did it all of those years, Mom, holding life together for all of your children. A mother’s love is like a supernatural experience for a child. It’s something I could rely on every day.

But now, as you face dusk, you’ve got your own uncertainties and fears that feel so overwhelming, so hard to manage. I want you to know that I’m here, Mom. As you were there for me for so many years, I am here for you now.

Taking care of your needs isn’t obligation. It isn’t payback, or paying anything forward. It’s something much deeper and greater.

This is love, Mom. The same love and devotion you gave to me in my many hours of need, I give to you now.

You have a true servant’s heart, something I have long aspired to possess. You not only taught me how to be Christ-like, you showed me. Perhaps it’s symbolic we had this conversation after I had washed your feet and gave you bread to eat.

Jesus showed us all the right way to treat one another. You took what you learned from His example and passed it along to me. Now it’s my turn, Mom. Taking care of you helps me to see the fruit borne from the seed you sowed.

I know that one day soon, you’ll walk into the Light and into the Lord’s embrace. You’ll be waiting for me on the other side.

Until then, I am here for you, Mom. I miss you already and you haven’t left yet. I won’t leave you, either.

You showed a frightened little boy what love looked like. Now let me show you what I have learned. This is our time together, Mom.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, today and everyday. I love you.

Your son.

— Brett Fisher is a Carson City resident and former journalist.

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