Mother’s Day (May 13th, 2012)
I’d like to pay tribute to my mother today. This is the second mother’s day I’ve been in Africa (technically, the third, but the first one was eleven years ago, but I digress). Though at times we’ve had our differences, more often than not, we’ve gotten along. My mom is among those who inspired me to go into the medical field. I remember being fascinated with her stories about naked pregnant women dancing on the bed while in labor, delivering babies, helping moms learn how to breast feed, teaching them what’s normal and not normal for a newborn. Hearing stories about afterbirth at the dinner table while eating spaghetti and meatballs never really phased me, but it did skew my perception of what appropriate dinner conversation is supposed to entail. My college friends were kind enough to inform me when I had crossed some imaginary boundary of conversation etiquette. Why can’t you talk about diarrhea while eating chocolate pudding? Again, I digress.
Mom has been there to support me through the years, praying for me, cheering me up when I needed it. She also tries to do little things to make me feel loved or thought of. For example, when I returned home this last March, she brought my winter coat, a scarf, and gloves with her to the airport to receive me, despite everyone else saying it was ‘so warm’ outside. (It was SO COLD!)
|Addy gives me the rose, and then takes it back.|
In preparation for my arrival to my parents house, she cleaned some clothes out of the closet to make space for my clothes. She knew I’d lost weight since living in Congo and purchased some wintery clothing in smaller sizes so I had something to wear that fit and was warm. She also found an electric blanket to help keep me warm at night, put extra layers underneath the futon so it was nice and comfy, and left me some warm pajamas, a thick robe, and a small bag of Lindt chocolate on my bed.
While home, we spent time together here and there. Sometimes going shopping, sometimes just being at home together. While I was packing up to leave, she helped by writing down the things I was putting into the trunks as I went, which made packing so much easier.
Since I’ve been back to Congo, I know she’s thought about me alot. I know she’s praying for me, and loves me and all my siblings no matter what.
Thanks mom, for making me feel so loved.
|My parents and I before I left to return to Congo|