Ah, constant. Something that stays, unchanged. In this hectic, crazy life, things that are always there create comfort. They ease stress. They can reinforce positive memories. If your constant is a person, they can be your biggest cheerleader.
One of the most important constants in my life has been my mom, or MammaCakes as I like to refer to her. She’s been my biggest cheerleader, loudest advocate and dearest friend.
In school, when my classes were too easy, she jumped up and down to get me placed in classes that challenged me. In high school, when I had my first art show, she couldn’t wait to tell everyone she knew. When I designed costumes for the school dance recital, she helped me sew them.
In college, when I knew I couldn’t go to fashion school anymore, she supported my plan to drop out and go to U of I. Even when I had no contingency plan. She made 3 am drives to Milwaukee and Champaign when my migraines got so bad that I was becoming an emergency room regular.
When I wrecked my car and my body, she helped me shower and wash my hair, despite the awkwardness of caring for an adult.
She celebrated with me when I ran my first 5k. She threw a party when I started my first company.
When I was diagnosed with CRPS she spent months scouring the internet for research. She came to appointment after appointment with me. She was there when I had to switch doctors because of insurance. She dealt with the pain clinics every time they rescheduled a treatment I had been counting on for weeks.
She has supported my decision to continue to work full-time despite the pain. Every morning, she drives 40 minutes out of her way so that she can take me to the train and I can get to work.
If you mention the term “gluten-free” around her, she will tell you just how amazing FrannyCakes is.
She taught me how to bake. How to sew. How to do the guilt-inducing power stare. She’s been there for every broken heart and every day of soul-crushing pain
I also know that when she eventually reads this post, that it would make her cry, so the picture is another constant she gave me, our secret family recipe for Irish Soda Bread. It isn’t March unless we’ve made soda bread at least 3 times.
Thanks, Mom. For everything.