A few months ago I asked her to write something to me, so that I could have a tattoo done in her handwriting. She handed me a slip of paper upon which she had written “Always Remember I Love You My Molly Mugwump.”
In honor and celebration of her birthday, Moto tattooed the message on my left ankle, swirling it somewhat around the Hamsa I had done six years ago (another incredibly emotional story for another day).
When Moto finished, I looked down and felt tears flood into my eyes. With the ink smears wiped away, there was this vivid blank handwriting that looked amazing and more than being aesthetically pleasing, I have a piece of my Mom that I will carry with me forever – not that I wouldn’t carry her in my heart, mind and soul; the tattoo, however, is a constant reminder of her unconditional love and support.
Last May my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Thankfully, they caught it in the early stages. She had a lumpectomy followed by six weeks of radiation therapy. Currently she is on an oral form of chemotherapy that is, somewhat, more mild than if she were receiving it IV. Still, it hasn’t been a walk in the park.
My parents divorced when I was three, and I am essentially an only child (I have a half sister who is eleven years my junior and we did not grow up together. She lived in Montana with our Dad and my Step-Mom, and I lived in Miami). Mom was a single parent in every sense of the word.
Geography, it would seem, made it difficult for my Dad to play an active role in my life. Long distance didn’t make for a warm and fuzzy or close relationship. Mom pretty much did it all – worked to support us, made sure I did well in school, helped with homework, took care of me when I was sick, encouraged me in everything I dreamed of doing. She cooked and cleaned; chauffeured me to and fro the destination du jour. She held me when I cried and joined in when I laughed.
My mother taught me – by example – the meaning of genuine, unconditional love and selflessness.
When I was a little girl, missing my Dad, crying in bed at night, my Mom used to sing “My Blue Heaven.” I always remember her changing that one lyric to “just Molly and me, and Sooters (we had a cat named Soot) makes three” offering assurance that the three of us were going to be OK. That we were going to make it. 
Although my name is Nicole, the nickname Molly stuck. To Molly, my Mom added Mugwump, which she explained is a bird who has his ‘mug’ on one side and his ‘wump’ on the other. To her, I have always been and will always be Molly Mugwup. That is one of the amazing things about Moms – something I didn’t fully grasp until I became a Mom myself: No matter how old your children are, in some ways they will forever be the little babies you snuggled against your chest while they slept and dreamed and smelled so milky sweet and perfect.
Finding out she had cancer was devastating for us both. Despite our faith in God, the idea of losing someone you love is heartbreaking. She and I have been together for thirty-five years. She still lives with us. She has been present for every event in my daughters’ lives just like she was for mine.
When she told me she had found a lump in her breast, it was almost as if time stopped and the world came to a screeching halt around me. How would we tell the girls? How would I comfort them and still be able to grieve myself? Who would I drink coffee with in the morning? Who would wander around Wal-mart with me on a Saturday afternoon? Or listen to my ideas involving duct tape and furniture? Who would beam with pride at every accomplishment? Or read every article in the paper with my byline? Who would offer me reassurance when I felt like life was falling apart? Or tell me not to beat myself up for not doing something that measures up to my insanely impossible perfectionist standards?
I had talked to Moto a few months about wanting to have this tattoo done so I would always have my Mom’s handwriting – a visual, ever present echo of her love for me – as a literal part of me the way she has always been such a huge part of my life. Today, her birthday, seemed like the perfect occasion to have this tattoo done.
One year later, my Mom is cancer free. She is still on the oral chemo, and I have noticed a gradual slowing down. Through everything, she has not missed one day of work nor has she ceased to be active with me and her granddaughters. I find her absolutely inspiring and amazing. I do my best to enjoy each and every moment I have with her, because I know that she is not going to be around forever.
And when the day comes that I can’t share a cup of coffee with her in the morning, I will forever be able to see her unending, unconditional love written like a soft whisper and a warm hug on my skin.
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