Wildflower

My mother is beautiful, quick to laugh, hair almost as white as freshly fallen snow, and she always has a sparkle in her eye. She has given me many things, including a love for big bowls of ice cream, but one of the things I love most about her is her love for teaching and strength.

As a little girl, I always had a book nearby. Even when I couldn’t read yet, I sat in my favorite rocking chair with my little sister on my lap, happily flipping through the colorful pages of a book. I loved reading so much that it got me in trouble at times, hiding underneath a blanket with a flashlight at bedtime. I loved when my mom homeschooled my three brothers and I because I always looked forward to listening to her read to us. I especially loved running outside, making mud pies, and flipping over rocks to look for bugs (sorry for all the spiders, mom).

Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a teacher just like my mom. Fast-forwarding to high school graduation, I asked my parents if I could go on a gap year to Costa Rica. I realize now how hard it must have been for my mom to hesitantly say yes. But, it was the greatest nine months of my life, because I lived out the dream my mom gave me. Walking into the city of Tirrases, Costa Rica, I opened my arms wide as children ran to give me a hug. We lived life together, sliding down the grassy hills on a makeshift cardboard sled, running around the soccer field, watching leaf cutter ants hurry along. But the best moments were teaching the children.

Whether it was showing them the tiny green clovers shaped like hearts, singing spanish songs with them, patiently listening to their struggles, or preparing lessons for them, I like to think if my mom was with me, she’d be right by my side.

Now that I’m in my twenties, I’ve realized just how strong my mother is. She has faced a lot of struggles, but each one has made her stronger than she might realize. She has a certain determination and strength that is beautiful to see. She chooses to look for the beauty in each day, like purple wildflowers on the side of the road or the little cardinal flying nearby. And that is something she has given me too, an appreciation for the tiny moments that make me smile.

I’m thankful for the love she has given me and that she still smiles when I dig for worms with my nephews. She has always supported my dreams of teaching and writing, but I don’t think any of my words can really describe how much she means to me. She deserves the world. But for now, maybe I’ll find her some wildflowers (or a bug).