When I Run to Ma

“All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.”

– Abraham Lincoln

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I am going to be bluntly honest. I must. Raw truth is the only way I can possibly illustrate my point.

There are a lot of people who do great things. They overcome great sickness and survive endless wars.

I haven’t been the victim of an endless war, but I am overcoming great sickness.

In January of this year, I went in to see my holistic doctor. Upon being checked, I was told that worms had invaded my body and my thyroid and adrenals were severely inflamed. My doctor, who was eager to expel the parasites from my body, gave me a six week plan that has lasted for five months. Gluten, dairy and sugar have come off of my menu and I take twenty pills and five medicinal liquids each day. Before bed each night, I am given a coffee enema and juiced fruits and vegetables.

I am reluctant in sharing these details with you all, but it is blunt truth, and as I said before, blunt truth is the only way I can express my feelings today.

As I am slowly coming out of this period of healing, I often selfishly pat myself on the back and look at how I have stuck to the healing process and how my efforts are beginning to come through.

Until a few weeks ago.

Most mornings I awake to the smell of boiling enema coffee, which I think happens to smell rather nice. It was about 7:30, which was thirty minutes before I had to head to work. Upon my arrival downstairs, I saw my mother picking up the large, heavy, and green dutch oven full to the brim of enema coffee. As the liquid poured out over the strainer eager to be free of the pot, Ma struggled to hold it up. I shrank back into the shadows of the stairs and realized what I had not in so long.

My ma is the one who pours endless cups of enema coffee into mason jars for my enema. Mom is the one who let go of all her old recipes to make gluten, dairy, and sugar free food. Mom is the one who prays for me every morning more than I even pray for myself. Mom is the one who makes juices every morning, reminds me to take my pills, and rubs inestimable amounts of essential oils on the ailing parts of my body. Mom is the one who rubs my cramping stomach at one in the morning when I begin to pass yuck. Mom is the one who stays up at night on the computer until three in the morning trying to find home remedies and solutions to ease my healing process. She is the one who stays up late doing the dishes for me when I cannot. She is my advocate and my body guard. She is my teacher and has given me the best education any human being alive could ask for.

Sometimes I ask myself why.

My mother does not school me at home because she has to. She does not pray and heal and care for me because she has to. She does nothing for me because she has to.

She does it for me because she loves me.

When I consider how I often treat her, my heart writhes within me.

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Last week, I was desperately sad.

I do not remember what for, but I remember that I was distressed.

I cried in my bedroom, with my Bible in hand. Mother, coming to ask where a cell phone was, entered in and saw me weeping. Concern clouded her beautiful, big, brown eyes and she begged to know what was the matter. After telling her what I do not remember now, she smiled and, putting her hands on her hips like she always does when she gets a good idea, she proposed a thought.

I took that day to spend time with her and my sister and my brother instead of staying at home finishing up school. We spent the day laughing and looking for birds, beavers, fish, and bugs. We washed the car at John’s favorite wash, ate Chick-fil-A grilled nuggets and waffle fries (those are gluten, dairy, and sugar free if you are wondering), and I brought money to buy Emma and Sense and Sensibility at Barnes and Nobles (all the classics are on sale for $5 so go buy yourself some).

It was one of the best days I have had since the school year started.

And Mother, once again saving my day, declared it the first day of summer.

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I do not know how one can make it without a mother, but I know it can dreadfully and distressingly be done.

As a child, I would often have frightening dreams. I always knew this:

When I ran to Ma, everything would be alright.

I love you Mom,

Emily 😉

“My mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. All I am I owe to my mother. I attribute my success in life to the moral, intellectual and physical education I received from her.”

– George Washington

Amen, George.