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Home again, after so many visits over the years, it still feels a bit strange to be moving back to the city of my youth, almost like I don't quite belong anymore. When I left I was told that Chicago would always be my home, and while my parents remain here, it doesn't quite have that safe feeling that a home does. Perhaps that is due to the fact that one of the people who were there to make me feel safe will no longer be here with me. My father will still be here of course, but she was always the backbone of our small family.
My mother was always the picture of strength, at least that is how I remember her. Beautiful and proud of herself and her family, she always did anything and everything she could to make sure things turned out the way she felt they should. While most of my friends' mothers were at home and their fathers worked, my mother went to work every day just so that my father wouldn't have to support us alone. She was definitely overworked and underpaid, but no matter how many hours she worked, she was there when I needed her. Whether it was help with homework, putting dinner on the table, or an emergency ride to the hospital after a fall from the tree in our yard, I could always count on her to be there when I needed her. Now she needs me, and I will be there.
My parents told me she had been diagnosed with cancer, but I was told there was nothing to worry about. Why would I worry? My mother was strong and would overcome this. I knew she would because she said she would. What other guarantee did I need? There comes a time though, when we need to begin to stop believing everything our parents say with the blind trust of children and grow up. Grow up and learn the truths of the world. Learn that things don't always turn out "just fine", and that sometimes even the strongest of heroes and heroines can and do succumb to an evil villain.
You know, throughout my time here on earth, I can count how many times I've seen my mother cry on one hand. She cried once when I graduated highschool, then again when I graduated from college. She called both days the proudest of her life. The only other time I had seen her cry came between those two times, when I moved away from my childhood home. It always happens, the baby grows into a child, the child into a young adult. The young adult then leaves to learn the ways of the world and to discover themself. If their parents did a good job, the young adult turns into the best man or woman they can be. While this is a fact of life, it isn't always an easy fact, which is what my mother told me as she held me and cried. Giving me a final kiss on that day before I got into my car, she smiled and whispered in my ear, "It's time to leave the nest. Take the wings I've given you and fly Babybird..."
I guess it is my turn to be that strong for her now. To not let her see me cry in these, her final days. I don't think I could have lived with myself if I would have stayed in Philadelphia, knowing what was going on back home. I wanted to be here, but more than that, I needed to be here. I needed to be here for the woman who gave me so much so that when it is her time to go and leave me, I can kiss her one last time. Kiss her that one last time and tell her that it's ok for her to take to her wings and fly.
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