On the most influential woman in my life

When my daughter was 8 months old, she was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis. On the ride from the specialist's office in Atlanta to my parents' house, I called my mother to let her know. I don't remember the words I used, just that she had to decipher them through my sobbing. When we arrived at her house, she was in the driveway, watering her rosebushes. This image will stick with me for the rest of my life. I was certain before that second that my world had turned upside down and that everything I believed before that time had become untrue. But my mom was watering the rosebushes. Because they would bloom again. They would grow taller and fuller, there would be buds, and later beautiful, fragrant blossoms.

I never saw her cry about the diagnosis. I know that there were many tears shed, I also know that I didn't see them. Her strength empowered me to stand. I was raised by a strong, godly, powerful woman, and some of that must be in my bones, too. I see in her both soft femininity and resolute strength. And that's who I will be.