I cannot forget my mother, she is my bridge. - Renita Weems




My mom

  I can, honestly, say that I wasn't anything near the perfect child. My mom and I didn't exactly get along in high school, and unfortunately, I know that I put her through hell, caused her unnecessary worry, and wasn't nearly as respectful as I should have been towards the wonderful lady who brought me into this world. I guess, I'm more than sorry for how I treated her when I was a teenager and going through my rebel stage, thinking I was in charge of my life, and had the mindset that nothing could ever happen to me. I was the epitome of the typical teenage brat...LOL! I guess it's a bit funny now, but at the time, I know it was far from funny for my mom. I was sneaking out, experimenting with drugs, drinking, having sex, and was totally oblivious to the consequences of the choices I was making. Sadly, I learned the hard way what it truly means to accept and feel a mother's love, and I wouldn't go back for the world.

I was 16 years old, dating a complete loser, and dealing with a difficult relationship with my dad. My mom took the brunt of all my anger. The relationship I was in was anything but healthy. I was physically abused, mentally abused, emotionally abused, and cheated on. My mom saw right through him and warned me that I was better than what I thought I deserved, but I didn't think so. Sooner, rather than later, I hit rock bottom. I thought I was pregnant, wanted to end the relationship, was furious with my dad because I didn't think he was being the dad I needed, and disappointed in myself because I had allowed myself to stumble for so long. To me, suicide was the only option.



I wouldn't call it luck because having great parents isn't luck, it's what parents are suppose to be. My mom saw me hitting rock bottom, recognized the signs, heard the fear in my voice, knew I wasn't afraid to attempt suicide, and contacted my dad, who ended up calling the police. I was angry at the time because I hated myself, my dad, my brother, and my mom for getting involved. I was 16, and it was my life, who cared what I did with it? They did.

I ended up in the local ER and being admitted to a behavorial facility for children, teens, and adults with mental problems, drug problems, and suicidal attempts or threats. Over 3 weeks, I was able to concentrate solely on myself and began to realize that everything my mom had been doing for me and trying to do for me over the past year had been out of love. You know what I told her when she committed me, "I hate you, and I will never speak to you again." I can only imagine how deep my words cut her heart. She had given birth to me, raised me, protected me, and loved me through good and bad, and I had told her that I hated her. I'll be honest, that is something I will regret until my dying day, even though she is well aware that I didn't mean it.




"Whether our relationship is strained or very hostile or amiable, we need our

mother to conjugate our history, validate our femaleness and guide our way."

-Victoria Seevada





After I was discharged from the behavorial center, I got involved in a local church, was baptized, and decided that the life I was previously living was not for me. It wasn't who I really was, and I was letting everyone down, including myself. I started attending church on a regular basis, had regular counsoling appointments, and began participating in the youth group. I was beginning to feel like me again, the person I was before all the drama, disrespectful attitude, and suicide attempt. My mom supported my decision to get involved even though she isn't a believer in organized religion.

About a year and a half after being discharged from the behavorial center and preparing for a week long retreat in the Smokey Mountains with my youth group, I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease. I remember my first colonoscopy like it was yesterday. I awoke during the procedure screaming in pain. The doctor informed my mom and I that I had Crohn's disease and would need to begin medications and change my diet, a small packet he handed my mom listed foods that I could and could not eat.

My first hospitalization was, unfortunately, on my mom's birthday. She didn't think twice. She took me to the emergency room and stayed with my thoughout all the bloodwork and tests that lead up to my being admitted for a little over a week. She was there every night after work. I don't think I've ever told her, but I was scared and her prescence provided a peacefulness that calmed my nerves. Knowing she was with me made it that much easier to fight my disease.

My second hospitalization was by far the scariest event of my life. I was over 2 hours away from home, had fallen very ill to what I thought was mono. I was unable to walk, eat, or even functon normally. I was too weak to sleep on my top bunk in my dorm room; so I made a bed on the floor, where I spent my day watching Disney movies while my roommate was at class. If I went anywhere, it was to use the bathroom or sit in the shower under scalding hot water for what seemed like hours, bawling my eyes out the whole time. After a trip to the university health center, I was informed that my hemoglobin count was severely low and that I'd have to leave campus because I was too much of a liability. My mom left work to come get me; she drove over 4 hours round trip to take me to our local hospital for treatment. After a terrifying experience with morphine, upsetting a doctor because I refused a rectal exam, and being told I'd be admitted for a blood transfusion, I was transported to a room where I distinctly remember grabbing my mom's hand while tears filled my eyes and saying, "I'm scared." Although I knew she was too, she stayed strong, squeezed my hand and said, "It's going to be okay."



My mom and I at Christmas, 2011



That was the beginning of a very long, stressful, and frightening journey of hospitalizations and hospitalizations. For seven years, my mom didn't use one vacation day for herself. She used every single vacation day and some sick days to spend weeks with me in the hospital. She'd sleep on hard chairs, eat unedible hospital food, and go days without changing her clothes...all for me.

Even though I was 18, my mom was still very active in my health care. My last hospitalization at the local hospital, I began to hemorrhage, and my mom made it very clear to the nurses and doctors who were visiting me that no one was allowed to touch me any longer, that she was demanding a referral to a specialist in Chicago, and if they couldn't provide it, she'd take me herself, against doctor's orders. As was terrified, and although I knew my mom was frightened too, she never once broke in front of me. I had no clue how scared she was until my brother, Bryon, told me after my first surgery.

I don't remember much about my first surgery besides Matthew and my mom coming back with me to the pre-op room. I was so excited to have surgery, to be done with fighting Crohn's disease. I was chipper, cracking jokes, socializing with the nurses, anestheologists, my surgeon, and the nurses who were going to be caring for me while I was under. When I was given Versad to begin my sedation process, I was given the chance to say good-bye to my mom and Matthew. I lost it emotionally, and for the first time in seven years, I saw tears well up in my mom's eyes. Until that point, I'd always considered her Superwoman (and I still do), but right then, I saw her as human, just like anyone else. My mom was scared. She was worried. She loves me so much that she has stayed strong for me for so long that she hasn't been able to break in front of me. I admire her for that. I love her for that. I want to be like her for that.

You see, I wasn't the perfect child. I was mean, disrespectful, and disobedient with my mom, and I would never have been angry at her if she just said, "Screw it, I'm tired of trying, live your life the way you want and don't blame me when you're disappointed with how it has turned out." Instead, she put up with me, protected me from myself, loved me at my worse, supported me through the hardest decisions of my life, and continues to care for me even though I'm out of the house. It's definitely true when they say that a mother's job never ends, but I think they forget to mention that a mother's love never ceases, no matter how bumpy the road may get during the journey.

I can truly say that I'll never be able to repay my mom for everything she's done, the support she's provided, the love she's shown me when things have gotten rough, and the encouragment she's continued to give and give throughout my life. She's my angel, and I don't know where I'd be without her.

This is Rascal Flatt's song "I Won't Let Go." The first time I heard it, I cried my eyes out because it describes the relationship between my mom and I perfectly. She's never let me give up fighting Crohn's when that's all I wanted to do. It's hard being the person fighting Crohn's, but I can only imagine what it's like to me the mom having to hold up your child when they don't have any fight left to go on.

Thank you, mom. I love you more than you'll ever know, and I hope that when I have children, I can be half the mom you've been for me.

Be comfortable. Be sexy. Be you.