Love Is A Sacrifice

Dear Mom,

Today, I want to honor you with a special letter to tell you why I love you.

First, off I need to start with your mother for she taught you; and you have taught me more than I could ever hope to learn from anyone else. You taught me in love, with love, of love and how to love.“Thank you,” could never express even a grain of sand on the shore of all that I am grateful for. Yet, I say it anyway as it is all this language has to offer. So, thank you.

As you know, neither your Mother nor you were supposed to live. She was told to have an abortion in order to save her life. With 3 little children already at home, no one would ever hate her or belittle her for doing so. No one, that is, except her. She loved you so much that she was willing to risk her own life to give you yours, even before ever holding you in her arms. Yet, that love was known by all the family, not just her. She still had to live life knowing it could all vanish, but if it gave you a chance it was worth the blood transfusions and all the blood lost; it was worth the dizziness and the pain. If only to give you a minute of life. So for 6 months this is the way she lived in constant prayer of your lives.

The day came when you were born three months early. She lived but was told her daughter wouldn’t live a single hour. When you proved the doctors wrong she was informed her daughter wouldn’t live through the night. When once again you proved them wrong, she was encouraged to hold onto each precious minute and hour for they were numbered, and it would not be long. Three weeks later, she finally was allowed to hold her precious child. Pained to see you struggle and not be able to take that struggle away from you, yet overjoyed to finally hold the child she risked her life for in her arms. Three months after you were born, you were finally able to go home in your mother’s arms. Her rejoicing for your recovery despite the long road ahead was vast. After all, you are her miracle child. The one who saved her by risking her life for you.

I don’t know much about your childhood. Only that you struggled but still became one of the most incredible women in all the world. Maybe it is because of your great struggle that you learned how to be so patient even in emergencies where everyone around you is in a panic. However, you gained such a blessed trait you have used it to nurture us throughout our lives.

Let me tell you of some memories that show your sacrifice for me. When I was between the age of 4 and 14 months old you saved us from the hurricane. Or at least that is how I saw it. Yes, I was so little, and this memory has only stuck because we kids have discussed it at length. Yet, you see, I remember it differently from the other two.

The wolves snarled and howled at the door, walls and windows threatening to knock the house over. Unlike the little pigs, we didn’t have only one wolf but many. The force of them puffing shook the house, and the sun had hidden from the sound of their snarls. The windows were closed so we could not see the wolves that stood as sentries. The only light was that of a single flashlight. Crying out of fright, you held me close and sang softly. Somehow those soft whispers drowned out the howling. Gathering my brother and sister, you all moved the couch and made a tent or fort behind it. That was the castle. . Our fortress in the storm. With a single bit of light, you read stories of little pigs and princesses and happily ever afters. You made that moment a fun moment even with all the fear. As my sister asked when Daddy would be home you gently told her you didn’t know, but you knew he was safe. Then you turned to another book and had her help you read it. You made her the solution to all of our fears, even your own.

Your sacrifice at that moment was not just the time but the way you spent it. You sacrificed your fears to comfort ours.

When I was in first grade I never felt right. I was sick all the time and we all felt the stress of Dad not having a job. Even though I hadn’t understood what was happening, I knew only one thing; you both loved me. I knew this not because of the words that you said, as words never told me anything. All the times when I would get a compliment or praise of any kind from anyone else, they would always turn into a way to bully me or my best friend. I never told you, because it would make you sad. I never wanted to make you sad. Still, sometimes, I know I did. I learned how you loved by your giving all that you had. We received help with paying for food and the house. So what did you do? You volunteered your time with those that gave us the support. You also opened your home to a girl who had none.

Although, legally, she was nothing more than a guest in our home, you helped her feel like part of the family and made us kids all feel like she was. My big sister that I only knew for 8 months. You sacrificed your office/sewing room for her to have a bedroom of her own, you gave her love knowing it wouldn’t be long before you would never see her again. You guided her to the way a family should be, open to all those in need.

As I said, I never wanted to make you sad. Yet when I was three years old my baby brother was born. Although I don't remember if he was born yet or not, I know it was within less than 2 months of his birth. You taught me patience, and how to have compassion for others. Yet, when I demonstrated that I had learned this, I made you sad. It was insensitive as you were not supposed to be able to have any children. But being only three years old, I just didn’t understand that. I saw things as they were without any understanding of the finer details at work.

I asked you, “Why do so many people keep having children of their own, when so many children don't have a safe home and family?” Yes, the question came from desire to help, from compassion and love, and is what placed adoption on my heart. Yet, when you began to cry, I knew I had missed something. This made me want to not only help you but to learn the greater details as they were important. I soon learned how devastating a “broken family” can be.

Now, I go to Africa in only a few months to find my son, after I do a humanitarian aid trip there. I was so young, and your reaction was tears and kneeling down and saying softly, “Because they belong.”; it has led me to have even greater compassion and not to look at only one side of things. The outlook in life can not be just for this moment alone but all the moments yet to come. Give love before, now, and forever after—even in great hardships—and you will have greater compassion. Thank you for these lessons.

Moving has always been normal for me. I never really minded, because I would still have you. I remember one move. Although I have no idea how old I was, I know I was less than 8 years old. I had heard you and Dad talking about the cost of moving and not having enough. You never gave us kids allowance so I don’t remember how I had gotten the money, but I know it was mine. I found you in your bathroom curling your hair with a curling iron. I had gotten your attention, and you turned to me. I had already learned how to have compassion and how to have the desire to help however I possibly could. You had taught me so well that it was a part of me. So I asked not if I could help but if you would accept my help. Just like me, you are stubborn, and it’s hard to accept help even though it is easy to give. I came over and waited until you put the curling iron down. Then with tears in my eyes I gave you my purse and told you, “I have $15 will that be enough for what you need for the move?” Your eyes filled with tears as well. Being so young, I thought $15 was a ton of money, and at that point it was my life savings. So although it would make no difference in our ability to pay for the move you told me what I needed to hear, “Yes, it is enough.” We hugged and cried for a few minutes before I left.

When I got older and found out how much it really cost to be able to move, I really contemplated why you accepted it and said it was enough. How could it make any difference at all? The answer came in scriptures. Jesus taught his disciples as they watched the kings pour bag after bag of money into the tithing pot, giving a great amount of money, but not even a dent in what they owned. Then a widow with less than a pennyworth. She came and placed it in the same pot. Her sacrifice was more because it was all she had. My sacrifice of $15 was not a dent in what was needed but was all I had. I learned that the sacrifice doesn’t have to be something that the other person cannot do for themselves but is doing what you can do for them. That is what love is.

Yet sacrifice comes in many ways. We almost always think of it as giving or doing something for someone. What if it is more than that? See you taught me how to love to serve so, although as a child I would complain about doing all the chores as it was only us three girls I ever saw cleaning, you taught me as a teen why that was. As a teenager I came to love to clean. Although I preferred it if you never knew I did anything. Let the service speak for itself. Sometimes you would tell me to go ask my brothers to help me clean the kitchen. I didn’t have a problem with cleaning, so I never would get them. Yet one day, you explained to me that by refusing to get them I was refusing to allow them to serve. They became lazy in the house chores, because I didn’t allow them to do them. I also tarnished their ability to feel good when you would come in from doing something in town or outside or helping a neighbor to find the kitchen or laundry room cleaner then when you left. Sometimes a sacrifice is allowing someone else to help. Particularly if they are helping you, you have to sacrifice your pride. Since service is one of the best ways to feel better and love someone more, sometimes the most loving thing you can do is allow them to serve you; even when you can do it yourself.

I know this is long, so I will share only one more precious memory in this letter. I was struggling with Pupa’s death. I cried and cried. Although Dad held me, I couldn’t stop the tears. Even as an adult you never stop needing your parents. You told me that I could talk if I needed to. I eventually reached out to my best friend as she reached out because she was really struggling with her depression at the time. So I talked to her but every other friend that reached out to me I just couldn’t talk to. All they got was silence. Not because they did anything wrong I just couldn’t make my body do as my mind said to do, to scream out for their help. The thing is, by doing so when I lost one of the girls I am a caregiver for passed away last night I was already able to reach out. What made the difference this time was I came to you crying after finding out as I was getting ready for bed. I came to you after just fighting off a bad wave of depression to where I couldn’t get my mouth to open for the past 3 hours. Why is this important? Because as I write this it was only last night when this happened. I came upstairs and, as always, you instantly knew something was very wrong. I came and sat on Dad’s lap, and you patiently waited for me to be able to tell you past the tears what was wrong, as you knelt beside me rubbing my back. I came to you, not my best friend, at this moment because I did. I came to my best friend. Although I have never been close to you in the sense of being able to tell you everything—which I don’t feel that way with anyone—I still came to the one I feel most safe with, the one I know will always be there for me. The one who makes me so much better than I am. The one I have always wanted to be able to honestly call my best friend.

So with all that you taught me, I think what you taught me most is love. Love is a sacrifice. You have sacrificed everything for me, and in return you have received what little love I have given you in return. So with all my heart, I want to love you the way you love me.

Your daughter and hopefully best friend,