Amanda Lamb: When words fail

Last week on National Glioblastoma Awareness Day, I had a chance to reflect on my experience with this disease over the past nine years. Specifically, I thought about what the loss of a mother means to a daughter at any age. I now categorize my life into two segments—before Mom died, and after Mom died. Because I was her caregiver, I was present at her actual time of death. It wasn’t just the moment, but everything leading up to that moment that exhausted me, humbled me, depleted me in ways that I could never have imagined.

Even now, so many years later, it’s hard to put into words what I gained, what I lost, what I learned, how it changed me. My regrets include her not being a part of my growing daughters’ lives and my continued inability to seek her wise counsel. But my blessings are greater for having had a mother like her in my life. The experience put into perspective all of life’s perceived traumas and made me realize most of them simply don’t count. They don’t register on the scale of things that really matter.

When my mother was dying and I was overwhelmed by emotion and the sheer physical demands of caregiving, I used to tell her I didn’t know if I could handle this. She would say: Of course you can because you’re my daughter. And it turns out she was right.

The strength she gave to me has transcended time and grown exponentially with every year that passes. Yes, I am Madeline Lamb’s daughter. This legacy allows me to face anything that life throws at me. It’s a lesson I am reminded of daily. Mothers have a way of doing that—imparting life lessons that we only realized we’ve learned when we are truly tested. Thanks, Mom …