I loved both my parents. And they both loved me. But on this Mother's Day, I would like to focus on Mom. My Mom. I'd like to zero in on one event from my past that I think illustrates very well who my Mom was.

First, a bit of background. I spent most of my elementary school years at a parochial school run by the church my family attended. St. John was a bit unusual in that their school covered kindergarten through eighth grade. But since high school didn't start until tenth grade, I had to attend “junior high”, a.k.a. “middle school”, for just one year. Such a school, Marshall, was only two blocks from my home, so it was the obvious choice.

Marshall took good care of its 7th graders, helping them make the transition from the very different world of elementary school. But there was no such help for us rare incoming ninth graders. Ninth graders were supposed to know the ropes, and know them well!

I was totally unprepared for what awaited me. Marshall from the first day of classes threw all sorts of changes at me in rapid succession: six different class rooms instead of one, different teachers in each class, the hustle and bustle of many more students, a locker for storing books between classes, a gym class requiring students to (gasp !) change clothes and shower, and all kinds of rules about where a student could be and when without getting in trouble. I found myself completely overwhelmed.

Fortunately, since home was so close, I could go there for lunch with my Mom. I'm sure I worried my Mom with my daily downcast demeanor, and the confusion, even fright in my eyes. On a few occasions, tears bubbled up in those eyes. And I reached to my Mom for a hug. She obliged without hesitation. There was no scolding, no “good advice”, no telling me to “shape up and act my age”. (I was 13.) She was just there with me in my anguish. How hard it must have been to see me, day after day, walk out the door to return to Marshall for afternoon classes.

It took me a few weeks to make the adjustments. As I did, I found myself challenged as never before by the schoolwork, the teachers, and my classmates. I somehow found the strength to take on each challenge. And thus, Marshall launched me into many years exploring life's adventures. And a loving Mother, who hugged her son and dried his tears during those difficult weeks, had a hand in all of it.

My dear Mom died on November 2, 2008, at the age of 86. Her death left a large hole on my heart. That hole has shrunk over the years, but it is still there.

Thank you, Mom, for everything.

**Click on the tag "Ed Rinderle" under the blog title to see other contributions by Ed

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