The Silent Power of a Motherly love.

The first word that I mastered was Ma, or it will always be the most secure and reassuring word. There is emotion, strength, and refuge in a single syllable. A mother is not only one who brings us up; she will become our shadow, our first friend and the most reliable supplier of unconditional love.

When I was a child I believed that my mother was an ordinary person. She would cook, clean, take me to school, packed me lunch, stayed up late with me during exams and for some reason seemingly always knew when something is wrong. Everthing was usual. However, as I matured and started carrying with me the responsibilities of an adult, I came to understand how remarkable she was.

My mother did not get an opportunity to have a higher education. She did not speak on conferences and she did not have a career. My mother had an upbringing that left me with a sense of confidence to stand tall in this world. And all her lessons, all her habits, all her scolds--It all seems now the very training of life.

It never appeared like she was weary. Not to us at any rate. Now, when I have to do simple tasks, and it feels like I can not handle it all, I ask myself, how did she handle all of this and have a smile on her face?

Without her I would not have achieved anything in life. When I really failed or lost she used to tell me, Not to give up, this is not where you end . I was brought back on my feet by word of her. I recall the time that I was very bad in school. In terror I reached home to face her disappointment. And yet what she said was this: That mistakes are to be learned making; not to be embarrassed by. At least the one sentence changed something in me. She has taught me that failure is not the end it is a way into a start. She was concerned when I could not succeed. Nevertheless she never loved me less. That is not an ordinary love, the love that does not demand anything back and offers all he/she has. One day she became sick. I sat by her bed at the hospital and she was taking my hand; I only realized that the woman I knew as so brittle, a person of steel, was very much human: fragile, hurt and needed attention. My mother and others like her are transforming the world in a certain way _ without cheers, without headlines. They create the future behind the curtain.

She might not be mentioned in my school diplomas or employment titles, but she is amongst every achievement I have made, in invisible ink. She was the one who gave me no words, but seamed my tears. She is who really taught me the most by not talking.

There is nothing permanent. Tomorrow, she is not going to be there.

These days she walks slowly. She loses her memories. But she will live throughout my entire body, through my words, through my decision, through my heart, even when she will no longer be there. As after the mother enters your soul, she never leaves really. As I age, I look back at something trivial, the moments with no attention but are now turning epic. How she would wait near the window when I was late and look so not obviously worrying, and yet could not help the strain in her eyes. Or how she never at all wasted the last bit of something good, and though it might be her favorite with it, still she would put up a bit herself of something good, especially after supper at home.

I made my mistakes once or twice, got it wrong about her -thought she was tough, or careful, or intrusive. Now however I see that that was how she expressed her fierce love to me. She was not even trying to control me; she only wanted to shield me against a reality that I was not prepared to encounter.

My mother did not have much in her life, especially in luxury and comfort. She was never demanding even when she was entitled to it all. Her ambitions would become shelved in order that my wings would take flight. She served, and she was willing to die without having to think twice, and never made me feel indebted to her in any way. To me that is the unadulterated love.