I had a social studies teacher in 8th grade who was pregnant. I remember a time, when she climbed up on a chair to change a poster, and my friend Russell said, “How now, brown cow?” She had been pregnant for some time and often made fun of how her belly grew through her pregnancy, kidding with our class. I also remember the way she looked at Russell when the tears came to her eyes and said, “Really, Russell? How now brown cow?” The face she made and the way she felt was a vulnerability I had never seen in a woman, because my mother made it a point to never let her guard down in my presence.

My Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer a few years ago. She had a radical mastectomy and reconstructive surgery at the same time. She also had terrible, terrible radiation and chemotherapy for almost a year afterward. The whole time, my Mom tried to stay strong before me, and was scared to death to be vulnerable in front of her son, because she had always been this solid block in my life, the one thing I could count on, through my father leaving when I was 3, through the pathological liar she married when I was 10, through it all. I walked into my Grandmother’s dining room to see my Mother’s head in her hands one night during her fight against cancer. My aunts tried to push me out of the room, but I wouldn’t leave. My mom was terrified that she would die and leave me. Her hair had fallen out, her feet burned every time she stepped, and her insurance money had run out. I was in my mid-20’s, and I felt like I was ready to see my Mother as a person, scared, tired, vulnerable, like we all are. I still wake at night seeing my Mom raising her head from her hands, her eyes shot with tears, and scared to death because her boy had seen her afraid.

These things are why I respect Mothers. The eyes into which sons look, and the smiles we will never forget, and the tears that fall when their children are hurt or scared, are the most beautiful things this world has.