One of the downsides of living in the country and working in the city is the commute time. I’m grateful I don’t have to drive through rush-hour traffic or battle the “spaghetti bowls” of Houston. But an hour commute each day does have its perks.

The main advantage is I talk with my mom every day on my way home. She always wants to know how I’m doing and then there’s my standard questions about her blood sugar and what she did that day.

Her days are filled with more activities than someone a third her age. She volunteers at the local hospital’s gift shop, she helps count the money at church and she makes refreshments for the people in my brother’s religious education class.

There’s lots of laughter in our conversations and most of the time, our talks center around the present.

Today’s conversation started with talking about our getting a bigger vehicle so we can transport our grandchildren from their new house back to ours for weekend visits. That led into when our family moved from New York to Louisiana.

I was going into the seventh grade, and the story I was told was that my dad wanted us in his home state, Louisiana, because he couldn’t stand shoveling snow any more.

We had to sell our toys, our furniture and most of our belongings and move into a house a third the size of what we had up north. Worse, we were moving away from my mom’s entire family.
Eventually we made friends, but those first few years weren’t easy. My mom made sure we all attended Mass and ate Sunday dinner together and she established holiday traditions we’ve carried over in our own extended families.

What I didn’t realize until our conversation today was that my Dad left because he’d failed at every business opportunity he had up there and was desperate. That left my Mom with six children to take care of, so she went back to school and got a job.

She wasn’t sure he would come back, but when my Dad returned with a U-Haul, Mom made the decision to leave her parents and move to Louisiana with a broken husband and six young children.
I asked how she came to that decision and she said the answer was simple – they’d promised each other in church to raise a family together, and they weren’t going to break that promise until they’d given their life another chance. And just as important, she wanted her family together.

So she put what she thought her children needed in place of what was easy for her. She doesn’t judge single mothers – she stood by me 35 years ago when I found myself in that situation – and she’s supportive of all the decisions her children have made because she wants us to be happy.
Not a conversation goes by where my Mom isn’t telling me how much she loves all of us and how wonderful and special she believes all of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren to be.

“Your children are everything,” she said. “They are your precious gift from God and they come first.”

“Even when they’re all grown up?” I said.

“Forever,” she replied.

I held the phone away so she wouldn’t hear the catch in my voice.

“Mom, if I haven’t told you lately, you’re my hero,” I finally said.

“No,” she replied. “I’m just your mom.”

In my book, that’s a hero.

This article was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.