My mother was born in a small town in upstate New York.

Unfortunately, her father was abusive, something I never knew until my late teens. When my mom was 12 years old, her mother died. My Aunt Pauline is about 8 years older than my mom and was already married with a child or two, and their mother made Pauline promise that she would raise my mother and not leave her with her father after her death. Thus my mom’s sister and brother-in-law raised her. I know there was violence and abuse with my aunt’s husband, too. The cycle of abuse ended with my mother, though, and my sister and I grew up in a home that was safe. I honor my mother for ending that cycle, passing on only the good.

My mother was raised Methodist. My aunt and her husband (they were Catholic) owned a motel and restaurant, and that is also where they lived. When my mom was about 16, an older LDS missionary couple came by the motel. They were trying to find a place to live and wanted to check out the cost of the motel. It was more than they could afford, but while there, they asked (I think it was my aunt they talked to) if they would be interested in learning about the Church. “Sure, why not?”

Some time passed and a couple of young elders came by, finally responding to the referral from the missionary couple. My mom and her sister took the discussions. My mother initially started to read the Book of Mormon to disprove it (clearly I get my argumentative side from my mother), but when she would come to the discussions armed with what she believed totally disproved the Book of Mormon, the elders were able to explain it. It was a hard decision, but she eventually believed the Church was true and needed to join. She knew her sister wouldn’t mind since she’d been taking the discussions with her (and though her sister didn’t join the church then, she and her kids joined some years later); however, she was worried her brother-in-law would be angry with her and try to stop her. But he just laughed and thought it was foolish, but he didn’t really care. Thus, soon after her 17th birthday, my mother was baptized, becoming the only member in her family, the only member in her school, and one of only a handful of members in the entire area (it was a small branch).

After starting college in New York, she transferred to BYU, where she met my father. She has remained active in the Church ever since, and my sister and I were raised with all of the benefits of active Church life. My sister and I have both served missions, and my sister has married in the temple. We both have strong testimonies. I honor my mother for passing on the wonderful blessing of the gospel.

In college in the 1960s, my mother wanted to major in business or accounting, but she was told by more than one professor that a woman would never make it in that world, that no one would ever hire a female accountant. My mother gave in and become an education major, even though she really disliked kids. Though she never went back and got another degree in something she actually wanted, she passed on the lesson she learned to me and my sister. All while growing up, she told us to study whatever it was we wanted and to be whatever we wanted. If we wanted to be teachers, that was absolutely fine, but we were to do it because that was what we wanted to do, not because it was something expected of us simply because we were girls. I honor my mother for teaching me that I could be anything and for standing behind my choices.

The home my parents created involved a lot of reading and a lot of books. Many of my early memories involve trips to the library. I loved wandering through the stacks, picking out what books would be read next. I still love the feel of a library. In addition, school was one of the highest priorities. We were expected to do our best, and since my sister and I were bright kids, that meant we were expected to do well. I’m not quite sure how she did it, but I always knew school and homework came first, and yet I don’t remember my mom being pushy about it. When I was in second grade or so, I remember asking my mom if she expected me to go to college. She told me it was totally up to me. However, by the time I was in jr. high, I could imagine no other path than one that lead to college. I honor my mother for instilling in me a love of knowledge and of learning.

A few years after my parents were married, my father developed schizophrenia. Though my parents remained married and my father was and is a part of my life, this meant that my mother basically had to be in charge of everything. In addition to the traditional role of raising me and my sister, she was in charge of finances and home repair and everything else that has to be done in daily life. She sacrificed in many ways, probably some I still remain ignorant of, so my sister and I could have things we needed as well as some things we really wanted. I honor her for teaching me how to be strong. I honor her for teaching me practical things like the value of a dollar and how to crawl around under the house to fix a leak. I honor her for teaching me that when life takes a horrible, terrifying turn, giving you something you don’t remember signing up for, you continue to live.

I honor my mother.