A Mother’s Day Reflection
My mom wasn’t like other moms.
She didn’t hand out warm fuzzies, hugs, or “atta girl” pep talks. She didn’t cry, and she sure as hell didn’t crumble. I never once saw her fall into self-pity or let the world break her. Vulnerability? That wasn’t her style. She was a warrior. And not in the hashtag-inspirational-meme way—a real one. Grit, fire, grit again… and a little bit of chewy candy.
She had something to prove—mostly to men. Men who hurt her. Men who doubted her. Overlooked her. Underestimated her. And she proved every last one of them wrong.
She was smart. Fierce, strategic, and brilliant. She climbed the corporate ladder until there were no more rungs to climb. Senior VP of Compliance for a nationwide finance firm. The CEO and CFO worked with her. Executives across the country sought out her knowledge, her standards, her expertise. And still, she kept her circle small and her voice steady. No spotlight needed. I worked with her for 8 years, she had mad respect!
She was quiet, but not timid. Reserved, but never invisible. She loved fast cars, loud music, and marinara sauce. She was classy and polished with a soft spot for flashy clothes and designer purses. Her home was magazine-clean but still warm and inviting. And manners? You better come correct. Please and thank you were not optional. she loved hosting a party, all fancy-country like. Etiquette was always prevalent but there was always a lot of cuss words…just around.
She gave life advice constantly—especially to me. She was my life partner, my other parent to my children, my other half of my brain. And yes, I pretended to roll my eyes, but I absolutely took notes. I lived for the moments I could make her laugh. Her laugh cracked through that tough exterior. She didn’t have a social life or a big friend group—we were her people. Her kids were her whole world. Her best friends. Her legacy.
And that legacy? It’s wild, complex, and powerful. Like her. We all go by our own rules-just like her. We all have something to prove-just like her. but in our own ways.
She loved the city—the culture, the fine dining, the fast pace—but chose to live in the country and raise her family. She could “run with the boys” and sit pretty in heels at a gala the same week. She loved going to the lake and my brother-dog, Copper. And let me tell you, no one could vanish faster from a gathering. She mastered the Irish exit. One second she’s next to you, the next—Where’s MomMom? Gone. Slipped away like smoke in the wind, with grace.
She loved Eminem and sunflowers. She was well read and played the piano and taught herself how to can from the garden. She was intimidating and approachable. She didn’t like the spotlight. She loved lemon cupcakes, Costco and an ice cold beer on a hot summer day.
All of us—her kids—we’re different. But we all carry her fire. We’re strong. Stubborn. Resilient. With a little flair.(Montgomery Swag as Unk calls it) We’ve all got something to prove. That didn’t happen by accident.
That’s her.
That’s what she left behind.
That’s her legacy.
i wanted to be her. she was my standard.
And if I can carry even half of that into the woman I’m becoming, then I know she’s still here. Still guiding. Still proving ‘em wrong. – Don’t stop pushing me, Mom!