There’s a quiet strength in the kind of love that never falters. My mother, Barbara, has always been that unshakable force—steady as the sunrise, soft as a whispered prayer. Her love was never loud or attention-seeking, but it wrapped around us like a shield, holding our family together even in the most difficult storms. When life tried to rattle our foundation, she stood firm, the kind of woman who wouldn’t let go, no matter how strong the winds blew. Her devotion didn’t come with conditions—it was rooted in something much deeper: an unwavering sense of purpose, of grace, and of loyalty to the people she loves.
Throughout life’s most emotional and trying moments, my mother never gave in to anger or bitterness—she chose compassion, calm, and grace. Where others might have lashed out, she met turmoil with empathy, failure with forgiveness, and chaos with clarity. Her patience never wavered, even when we didn’t deserve it, because that’s who she is—a woman of quiet strength and endless love. She taught us life’s most valuable lessons at the kitchen table, reminding us that hard work, integrity, and doing the right thing matter. And when we stumbled, she never judged—she simply reached out, helped us up, and guided us forward with wisdom and an open heart.
I remember a time, long ago, when a wave of jealousy swept over me after my baby brother was born. Suddenly, so much of my mom’s attention was wrapped up in this tiny new person, and I didn’t quite know how to handle it. But instead of brushing it off or scolding me, my mom—being the incredible woman she is—sat me down every single day for a few weeks, just the two of us, for our own little “cup of tea.” It became our special ritual, our quiet time to talk, laugh, or just be together. Eventually, it was every other day, and then once a week, but she made it clear: anytime I needed her—whether I was three or thirty—all I had to do was say, “Let’s have a cup of tea, Mom.”
That’s the kind of mother she is. The kind who can look into the heart of a child and know exactly what they need. She didn’t just tell me I was still important—she showed me, in the gentlest, most loving way. With one simple tradition, she gave me a lifelong reminder that no matter how the world shifts, I’d always have a seat at her table and a place in her heart.
Recently, my mother faced what I believe has been the most challenging chapter of her life—walking alongside my father through the slow, difficult decline of his health. And while I say “my father,” he was so much more to her—her husband of over 50 years, her best friend, her rock, her confidant. For years, she poured her heart, time, and energy into caring for him—managing his needs, advocating for his well-being, and being his constant companion through every hard day and long night.
But even in the midst of that heavy responsibility, she never stopped being there for us. Somehow, through the exhaustion and heartache, she still made time for her children. She never let us feel forgotten. That’s just who she is—a woman of endless strength and limitless love, carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and still reaching out to hold ours. That’s my mom, even now, as adults, we carry her voice with us—the steady echo of her care guiding our choices and our hearts. She built a family not just with meals and chores and schedules, but with love that asked nothing in return. Her strength wasn’t in what she did—it was in how she did it: with grace, humility, and a love that never ran dry. My mom is more than a mother—she is the heart of our family, the keeper of our stories, the hand that still reaches out, steady and sure, to remind us who we are and where we come from.
If I had just one wish, it wouldn’t be for money, gold or power, it would be that everyone could say they had a mom like mine. Frankly we would be better off for it and this world would make a lot more sense.
With Love,
Scott