“But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story because hers is where yours begins.”
― Mitch atAlbom, For One More Day

What do you do for the woman that has taken care of you all of your life? When the time comes, you take care of her. Before my pops passed, he made me promise to always include my mother in all that I do, to never leave her behind and to keep her busy. With my mother being my best friend, these requests could and would be easily handled, but what we didn't expect after the passing of my father was that my mother's health would deteriorate so quickly.

Two weeks after pop's passing, my mother had her first stroke; a week after that, she had another, and then three more. Over a two month span, my mother had endured five strokes, multiple hospital visits, and a stint in rehab. In the end, my mother lost 70 percent mobility in her legs, and while she could walk short distances, she would become dependent on a wheelchair for the longer distances.

My mother and I had a quick crash course in wheelchair etiquette, how to naviagate in crowds and how to successfully get through doors. But, what we didn't expect was how society would accept my mother as a newly disabled person. There are two things specifically I have learned as my mother's keeper.

People Are Going to Stare

Some people look genuinely curious about the woman I am pushing about, and some look concerned. My mother is a small woman, and some people look down right offended to be in the presence of someone in a wheelchair. Perhaps they don't realize that they are staring, or are looking while thinking of something witty and genuine to say, or maybe they just have never seen two beautiful women out for the day.

Sometimes, no one helps... the struggle is real.

Coming in and out of doors with a wheelchair is far from easy. It's full of awkward turns, bumping feet against door jams, and wondering why the people walking past you through the doors next to you aren't helping. I sometimes wonder where the humanity is in these people, and wonder how hard it could be to hold a door open for someone struggling, but I always remind myself that everyone is struggling, some out loud and some silently.

My Mother is the Strongest Woman I know.

The Death of her husband, five strokes, and being immobile will not and has not dampened my mother's spirit. She wakes up every morning and smiles at me as I make her breakfast; she wishes me a good day. She has taken the tragedies that have befallen her and made them into crutches of hope that bring her smiling into each new day. She listens to my rants, my woes and my stories of joy. She congragulates me on every A, B and C that I receive in school. She is a four wheeled force to be reckoned with and refuses to go down with out a fight.