My Mom was a lovely person. She was kind to me. She gave me hugs and kisses. She said I love you in a lovely way. When I think of my Mom I think of roses and flowers. She was pretty: she had dark black hair, dark brown eyes, light brown skin, sweet and nice. If it’s dark and cloudy I’ll think of my Mom. My Mom is dead. But she still is inside of me and she is protecting me and I know she loves me and cares about me. In many ways, I could think of my Mom. People who knew my Mom or saw her picture say I look like her and I am told that I look like her because I still have her inside of me. Days go and come and I still remember my Mom.

My mom is special because she raised me and my sister alone. She had to do everything alone for almost my whole life. She has done a very good job, too.

My mom is also special because she takes care of me and my sister. She loves me and I love her, too. She does the things that count like listening to her two children. I do not mean that she pretends to listen to me because I’m a kid, I mean she listens to me and understands what I am saying.

Also, my mom knows what is going on in my life. If there is something she needs to know, I make sure she knows about it. My mother always spends time with me. When we spend time together, we have fun. We do fun things such as going to the park, bowling or just stay at home playing scrabble.

My mom is special because when we eat dinner together, we talk about important things like what I did in school. When we eat dinner, my mom makes me feel so happy because even though she is a single parent, she takes care of me like two people.

My mother also is special because she teaches me not to do drugs or drink. If it wasn’t for her, I probably would not know what is right or wrong or what I should do or not do. I would probably be nothing without her.

The most important reason why she is special to me is because she loves me.

What can you say about a mother who advised you at 5-years old to wait before marrying 5-year-old Gordon Webber?

Good thinking, Mom. At 8 years old, I wanted to marry Gary Mausner.

Who told you that you were going to the amusement park but really went to the doctor to keep you healthy?

Sure I cried. How did I know that it was for my own good?

Who kept you calm when you were stung by a bee in the eye and the eye closed up but assured you that you would not look like a pirate?

Who took you to the beach and bought you square ice cream cones but always kept you covered from the sun?

Who told you that no one except Dr. Bikoff and her, should ever touch you "up there" or "down there?"

But ma, what about boys?

Who taught me how to drive and survived without ever uttering a curse word?

Who understood when I didn’t answer the phone for a week when the Jets lost the AFC championship game in 1982?

Who held me through the heartache when my fiancee was killed at the tender age of 21?

Who hated it when I left home to be on my own?

Who stood by me with my decision to raise my daughter alone, and laughed when I complained of lack of sleep for the first few years of her life?

Through all of the pain, laughter, and tears, my mom is love.