I loved Mommy.

I hated Mom.When I was a child, Mommy gave me the best hugs ever, especially whenever I was sick. When I was 7, I had an allergic reaction from an immunization at the doctor's office. I broke out in hives. I could feel them lumping up from under my skin. I was scared enough to think I was turning into an alien from outer space.Mommy put me into a bathtub filled with hot water. She leaned over and hugged me."It's going to get worse," she said, "but then they will all go away."I cried as more and more hives turned me into the Elephant Man. Large lumps invaded every inch of my body. My eyelids were so swollen, I couldn't see.Ten minutes later and still sitting in the tub, I could open my eyes again. The hives were gone. Mommy never let go. To this very day, I can feel her arms around me thinking that whatever bad things might happen, she would always keep me safe.Another wonderful memory I have about Mommy was her standing at the back door watching me walk down the long road to my grade school. I would turn around every few feet and wave to her and she would wave back. Just before I'd get to the school, I would take one last look. I could barely see the outline of her body, but I could still see Mommy's hand waving goodbye to me. We followed this ritual every day until I went to junior high school.Mommy became Mom when I was beginning my teenage years. You know how it goes. When you get to be that cool kid at 13 and can't wait to be 21, you just don't say those childish words anymore.My father was physically and mentally disabled for seven years. Our family had no income from him and then he died. Mom washed and ironed rich people's clothes and cleaned their houses to help the welfare checks pay the bills. Her hands that used to hug me now wrapped themselves around glasses of beer every day and night. I could no longer see Mommy through the alcoholic glaze over her eyes. When she stopped working, Mom just sat at the kitchen table staring out the window and drinking her beer.When she did speak to me, orders slurred out of her mouth to clean the windows, scrub the floors, wash the dishes, and when I got my license, drive to the liquor store for more cases of beer.After paying my own college tuition, I moved out, got married and later divorced. I would visit Mom on Sundays. She sat at the table pouring another glass of beer, complaining about her life and never asking me about mine. One Sunday I had enough. Anger jumped out of my mouth."You're not my mother anymore. You're nothing but a drunk."She dropped her glass and cried. I got up and left, slamming the door behind me.Mom suffered through three heart attacks and several hospital stays until my sisters and I put her into a nursing home. I visited her every week. She didn't speak to me unless it was to complain about the nurses.One morning after she survived still another heart event, I asked her if she was afraid to die."I'm not afraid anymore," she said. "There was a beautiful man with long hair wearing a robe standing at the end of my bed telling me I would be going home soon."She reached her hand out to me and gently rubbed her fingers along my arm."Thank you for loving me," she said.I bent over the bed and hugged her. It was Mommy who hugged me back. She died later that night.Not long ago, I drove down the street behind our old house. I got out of my car and looked back. I could still see Mommy standing at the back door waving goodbye to me. I turned my eyes to the sky and the words fought their way through my tears."Thank you for loving me too, Mom."Rich Strack can be reached at

katehep11@gmail.com.