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John Kespert
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John Kespert   My Press Releases

Mom Always Did Her Best For Me

Published on 9/9/2016
For additional information  Click Here

Mom Always Did Her Best For Me

     Right from the very start my Mom did all she could for me. Even getting the family doctor to come help deliver me on Labor Day that year when he probably thought he'd have the day off.

     She gave me plenty of hugs, and, on those rare occasions when I deserved it, she also gave me appropriate discipline. She very rarely lost her cool with me. She certainly showed so much restraint that time when she was trying to get things ready for guests who were due to arrive any moment, and I mangaged to knock over the fish bowl and spill all my gray guppies onto the the gray linoleum floor in my bedroom. And as exasperated as she might have gotten when she saw me stomping through the mud puddles again and again after being told ever so many times not to, the worst punishement I would get would be something along the lines of a scolding and maybe 15 minutes standing in the corner (although that the time those 15 mintues seemed like hours to me). 

     Then there came that time, just after I turned 6 years old, that she did her best to be comforting as she could be to me, as she tried to explain why she and Dad couldn't come back to visit me there at the hospital for 6 weeks. She didn't mention anything about polio being contagious and the risk of one of my sisters coming down with it as well. Then, after just two weeks, when she and Dad did come back to visit me, she simply told me that they were given special permission to come back so soon because I'd been such a “good boy.” It was because she loved me so much at that very moment that she did not tell me that it might be the very last time she would be able to kiss me on the forehead, or that she really wished she could give me a long hug. But the hug was simply not possible that day because all of me, except for my head, was totally enclosed in that big iron lung that was doing all my breathing for me.

     Thankfully, that was not the last time she got to kiss me on my forehead. I was still alive the next day, and the day after that. The days turned into weeks, and became months. The one thing I was able to do was talk as the machine did my breathing for me. Sometimes she was even allowed to put her arm through one of the ports in the side of the iron lung to give my hand a squeeze. I could feel that, even if I could move a finger or anythig else below the neck. Mom was so happy that I was still alive and feeling better and able to enjoy those daily visits by her, or dad, or both of them.

     And then there came that day when she saw through a window in the side of the iron lung that I was moving my hands a little. In the following days I was able to slightly move my arms. It then became possible to turn the iron lung off for short periods of time. And then longer periods of time. Mom was so happy for me.

    She was even happier, two years after my being admited to the hospital when I finally got to come home to stay. By then I was in a wheelchair, and breathing on my own even if it was with only about one third of normal lung capacity.

     Because they loved me so much, she and Dad would not agree to my then going to a hospital school where I'd only be able to come home on school vacations. They wanted to be sure I could have as normal a life as possible. They got a tutor to come in for two years to help me catch up on reading, writing and arithmetic, which prepared me to then attend a regular elementary school at my age level as all the other kids in town.

     Now that I was in a wheelchair I no longer ruined my shoes by stomping through mud puddles. But one summer she did feel it necessary to warn me not to get too close to the frog pond when lack of sufficient rain had turned it into a massive pool of mud. That particular time I didn't intentionally go into it, but nevertheless I ended up falling into it when I tried to throw the broken branch from a tree into it. (After all, tossing those pebbles and stones had made the mud quake like jello so I thought it would be really cool if I could manage to throw that branch into the quagmire.) She was understandably a bit perturbed with me for doing that, but she and my aunt didn't give me much of a lecture while they hauled me out and dunked me, clothes and all, into the nearby swimming pond, to rinse all that mud off.

     Mom also let me do my science experiments on the kitchen table with the chemistry set that Nana and Grand (her parents) had given me for Christmas one year. Thankfully, that table had a metal surface so when experiments that didn't go quite right they didn't do very much damage to it. (By the way, that table had a very nice ledge under it which, when my sister and I were younger, found was a nice place for bread crusts that we didn't want to eat. I don't know if Mom ever figured out where the stale crusts came from when months later they mysteriously showed up on the kitchen floor.)

     Mom always wanted the best for me. Although raised as a Catholic, she saw no problem with taking me and my sister to Vacation Bible School at the local Baptist Church in the summertime. And she was happy for me when I was older and I so enjoyed going to home church groups for many years, and then became a member of the Baptist church, where for a time I became the leader of a Bible study group and a deacon.

    She then was happy for me when I found a girl online who I really really liked. She warmly welcomed that gal to the house for lunch during her first visit from California. Mom was so friendly, as she always was, to her and to my pastor who joined us for lunch that day. After lunch my pastor was delighted when Mom wasn't at all intimidated by his being a “man of the cloth” and told him that he ought to be on his way so Deb and I could enjoy our visit for the rest of the afternoon without entertaining company.

     Oh and she was so very pleased when, not just on the day of our wedding, but for year after year afterward, that I got to have a wonderfully happy marriage with that gal from California. It reminded her of the wonderful marriage she had enjoyed with my Dad. She really enjoyed having lunch with us, either at our apartment, or at a local restaurant, or at her favorite get together for lunch, the Cheesecake Factory.

    Mom was happy for me and proud of me. She was never reluctant to tell others how I was such a “perfect son.” Of course, whenever she would do that she would immediately go on to tell about my exploits regarding mud puddles, falling into the muddy frog pond, and a variety of other somewhat less than "perfect son" activities while I was growing up. Her doing that, right in front of me, made me love her even more.

     She was a great Mom. I can't thank God enough for having blessed me so much that she was my Mom, and that I got to do what I could to let her know I loved her.

     If you are blessed enough to have a Mom or Dad who have done what they could to love you the best that they knew how, you ought to let them know you appreciate it and that you love them. Unless they outlive you, which doesn't happen very often, there may come a day when it will be too late to tell them anything, or do anything more for them. Take the time to do what God says in His Word, to honor your father and mother.



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