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The Importance Of Mother In My Life

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My mom was the stable person in the marriage and the family. She was the breadwinner, the one who always held a job and made sure we had enough to eat and clothes to wear. I think about the life she had, a mother of six who had to work full time and who’s salary supported all of us while my dad worked sporadically and drank way too much beer. I don’t remember her ever having a vacation or even taking days off work, and yet when she got home at the end of the day she still made us dinner and washed the dishes, did the laundry and kept the house. How was she not always exhausted? Maybe she was, but I never heard her complain. She wasn’t a gentle soul exactly – she didn’t dote on her children nor did she express much affection towards any of us (she made up for that with her grandchildren), yet she was always predictable and safe. I think of how much she sacrificed of herself and her dreams to be our mom, to stay with my dad even though he was such a hard person to live with, because she felt it was the right, or only, thing to do. I will always paint my mom in a better, kinder light than my dad – I want to believe she was, of the two, more loving and kind and forgiving of people’s differences, but I don’t know if I actually believe that entirely. She had her own biases, certainly, and there were times when I saw them. One event I recall was during a Spring Break trip with her to Juarez, Mexico. She and I were strolling around the mercado looking at the local crafts and

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