I DIDN’T GIVE UP!

Whew! It seems like forever since I sat down and posted on this blog. The year 2024 did everything it could to test my faith, my strength, my emotional state. It was full of some things good, but the bad, scary, sad times tried its best to crowd out the good. Bad mojo didn’t win though. It didn’t stand a change againt me and my God!

The only way to describe 2024 was as a roller coaster. I started that year at the top of the roller coaster. My oldest granddaughter turned 21 in 2024 and she’s such a blessing. She’s grown up from a precious little girl to an amazing beautiful young woman. Not only is she beautiful on the outside she’s beautiful in the inside. Her soul is pure. Her compassion is great, her love for Jesus is amazing. She lives that love every day and people around her know that she is a child of God. 2024 saw her engaged to a wonderful Christian young man and they have a beautiful future ahead of them. I can’t wait to see where their lives lead them.

I knew the exact day that roller coaster was going to plunge to the bottom. Still, that plunge shook me to the core as I watched my youngest son, my baby boy go to prison. That’s a heartbreak that is really hard on a mama‘s heart. I knew he was guilty. He was guilty and we accepted a deal that could’ve been far worse if we had not taken the deal. My son going to prison was the lowest point of 2024, but it also caused that roller coaster to start rising again just a little bit. My son could’ve gotten a lot stiffer penalty. He also could’ve been sent to state prison, which in our state has a long history of being some place you never want to end up. By God‘s mercy, grace and love he got a deal that offered, in all probability, us seeing him home in six months. As another part of that deal, he was incarcerated in the best place you could be if you have to be incarcerated. When I left that courtroom the roller coaster was still teetering at the bottom. It was when I asked God to take control of my son that I could feel that roller coaster rise a little. I know he was sick and tired of me trying to give advice so I raised my hands to God, asking him to take control of my son. God told me to let go of the control I was trying to hold on to so He could take over. When I decided to do that, I felt a peace and comfort knowing that my son would be okay because God would never let go.

2024 also lead to another downside part of that roller coaster, as I saw my mom‘s mental health decline. I was really worried. I didn’t think that she really suffered from dementia or Alzheimer’s, but I do know that she suffered from narcissistic abuse from her narcissistic husband of 22 years. He started out the charming man, as most narcissistic people do. They traveled around with my aunt and uncle to help them with their funnel cake business. They took a cruise together, went dancing, had fun. After 10 years of marriage, the narcissistic side showed its ugly self.

My mom’s husband finally passed away in November 2024 after a couple of months of being on hospice care in her home. Right after that, the roller coaster came back up. My mom had control over her house again. My mom had control of what happened in her life, and her mental clarity started to return.

The roller coaster really went up to the top when my son was released in late January 2025. It was the first time he had seen his children in six months. He was able to video talk to them from the prison, but his wife not once brought the children up to see him. I hadn’t seen my grandbabies that 6 months he was in prison as his wife wouldn’t let me. I had to keep reminding myself that God’s got this.

My son kept reminding me I would see the kids when he got home. The roller coaster climbed back up when I got to spend time with them on each of their birthdays. which I would’ve missed if he had still been in prison. Just seeing their smiling faces once again and getting hugs and kisses from them, and them wanting to spend time with me, made that roller coaster go sky high.

I want to believe that roller coaster will stay at the top, at least for a long while. I have to keep talking to God about it as I’m so afraid that my son is going to fall into the same pattern of life he was in before, and that was being submissive to the wife he returned to. My son had lost himself. He had forgot what it was like to be a man and I was so in hopes being in prison would help him find it. I’m someone who doesn’t give up, thus the name of this blog. I always keep just a little hope, even if it’s just a little teaspoon full of hope. I always keep the prayers steadily going up to God. I had told my son when he was in prison, I was so proud of the way he had handled his time in there, that he handled it like a man, and now when he gets out, he needed to handle his personal life like a man. He needed to take the control back of his family and his household and his wife l. I haven’t seen that so far, but I’m just trying to hold on to that teaspoon of hope. I tend to think things are not any different before prison and after prison due to the fact he was released to his wife’s custody. She has a history between 3 husbands (my son is #3) of trying to destroy them. If my son were to do anything she doesn’t like, she threatens to call the cops and lie that he assaulted her, which she has done before. That action would send him right back to prison, this time with no parole until he had completed the whole sentence. I told him he just traded one warden for another one, only he is sleeping with this one! So, far the next three years, he has to play her game.

If you are on that roller coaster in your life, and right now it seems to be just going down, down, down , hang on. Don’t give up. It’s called a roller coaster because it goes down and up. It can’t keep going down forever. It’s going to have to come back up, so hold on for the ride. Don’t give up.

The sound of the handcuffs being slapped on his wrist were deafening to a mother’s ears. Seeing the tears forming at the rim of his eyes as he tried so hard to not let them spill over made a mother’s heart break. Knowing the thoughts going on in his head of the two small children he has had to leave behind are more than a mother/grandmother can stand.

As I looked at that scared and sad young man who was my baby boy, I thought back to the beautiful baby boy he was. This was the baby who came out of the womb with every thick hair on his head in perfect place, as if he had parted and combed it right before being pulled out. His dad always had to have every hair on his head just that perfect, even as that perfectly coifed hair turned to a distinguished gray. This beautiful baby was his daddy’s duplicate mini me. This was the son who could do the things with his dad that his older special needs brother could not do. That brother had his own special relationship with their dad, but this was the baby, the one to hopefully carry on the Barrentine name that would have otherwise died with my husband. They had their own special bond that was tragically cut short when my husband suffered two strokes which left him unable to do a lot of the things they would have done together.

As I sat on those hard courtroom seats, silent in a different kind of grief, I thought of the dad who probably would have handled all this crap better than I seemed to have handled it. I missed him more that day than I had allowed myself to want to admit. It has been nine years since my husband was called home by our Father God. As much as he is missed, I’m glad he isn’t here to have to watch our son go through this.

I have had to make decisions I can only pray were the right ones, and decisions I hope my husband would have been proud of me for making. I have a good network of friends and family for support, but the grief, fears, sadness and feelings of helplessness I felt more that day than ever before, are my alone to carry. I know I’m not totally alone in all of this as I have a Father God who is carrying me and my son through this.

It took me awhile to overcome the embarrassment I felt about having a child incarcerated. There has been so much condemnation and untruths spoken during all of this. But, I did find out who my true friends were. There were the ones who love me anyway, take me out to try to get my mind off things, let me talk about my son, and don’t judge. Those are my angels, my rope to normalcy. Those are God sent friends.

This is a story I never would have imagined I would be able to write about. I have written about the traumatic birth of my oldest son, the loss of my husband, and surviving a bully boss. I never would have imagined I would write about my youngest son going to prison. This has rocked me to the core. The strength I was always told I had seems to be crumbling. I have to drag myself from the depth of despair and stand to face each day, praying for my strength to return long enough to get me through the day.

I made a promise to my son that I would be there to keep a close eye on those two babies, to protect them as much as possible from their mentally unstable mother, to be there to remind them of how much their daddy loves them. I’ve been forced to break that promise, as my mentally ill daughter-in-law won’t let me see the children.

I haven’t written anything in quite some time. So much has been going on for what seems like forever. I just couldn’t get the thoughts to come together in my head. There were many things I wanted to write about, but whatever space was reserved for creativity has been taken up by the squatters who have moved into my brain, uninvited

My son was guilty, but not because he is a bad person. He made a stupid mistake out of fear. We knew there would be consequences for his actions and we hired a highly recommended and respected attorney to represent him. I feel he was offered a good plea deal and my son took it. Watching this play out in a courtroom was scary, and just hearing my son plead guilty ripped my heart out. I dropped my head to my knees to keep from screaming. Even that was not as bad as the sound of those handcuffs snapping around my son’s wrists. I’m sure it was not that loud, but to a momma’s ears it was deafening. I thank God for the bailiff that didn’t make him place his hands behind his back, for the way he didn’t try to make a statement or crudely slap on the handcuffs with a much louder, not necessary sound. That simple action saved this momma a little less grief, a little less fear. I like to think he had some decency that seems to have escaped most of his colleagues. Maybe he was raised to show compassion even though so many didn’t.

If you have never had to go through this, pray you never do. Once those handcuffs were snapped on, my son no longer belonged to me, at least for the time he had to serve. There was no last time hugs allowed, no last words to say. All you can do is watch as they escort him away. I stood there, not wanting to walk away from him until my cousin nudged me to leave. I knew from that moment on my world, his world, and his children’s world would never be the same. He was those babies best friend, the one they ran to when things went crazy, the only one who could calm the screaming, uncontrollable spells from an autistic child.

These poor children are now in the soul custody of an on the edge of insanity mother. Before you jump to condemn me and think this is just the result of a mother-in law/daughter-law dispute, I can assure you this is not the case. I used to work on a locked psychiatric ward at the VA Hospital. Granted the patients there were medicated, but I can still say I have never encountered someone as unstable as she is. I fear for their safety as she spirals more out of the rims of reality and more into the dark world of the mental illness she has refused to address or see about medication to curb the mania. I have pleaded with her to get help, but she refuses. There are many things she has done or demonstrated that made me fear for the safety of all of them. She has a history of bad behavior that led to destruction of property of those she felt had done her wrong. In her newly developed schizophrenia symptoms, she has become so far demented in her mental illness none of us are able to help her.

Because of the limited time the residents (what the inmates are referred to where he is) have for phone calls, days may go by before I hear from my son. Those are the days I fret the most. I don’t know if he is okay or not. The mind can really play games even when you don’t have underlying mental conditions to complicate matters. When a loved one is incarcerated, the whole family suffers. The family does not matter to the system. They temporarily own your loved one, and they have total control.

My grandchildren and I have a strong bond. I don’t condone the fighting that those children are subject to. It doesn’t happen when I’m there. Now that I have been forbidden from seeing the children, and there daddy is in prison, there is no one to be the calming presence these children desperately need. Right now, I am grieving for those babies. I need to see them, hug them, help them feel some normalcy in their anything but normal lives. I don’t give up when I’m set on accomplishing something.

My son’s plea deal included a much reduced sentence, and incarcerated in a community corrections facility. It’s still part of the state prison system, but this facility is geared toward rehabilitation to hopefully give the residents the tools and resources to make better decisions to avoid returning to prison.

My prayer for my son is he will learn whatever it is that God put him there to learn. I know they have counselors, so I pray he will open up to them and get help for his own mental issues brought on by the daily indignities he endured from his wife for at least the last three years. He once told me he felt he was developing mental issues because of her, and I pray he can find himself again and take back his life.

I’m trying to be there for him, just as I have always been. I’m also trying to hold myself together, praying my God will provide a way for me to see those babies. My son hasn’t seen them since he’s been in there because his wife has not completed the necessary paperwork to be allowed visitation. They need to see their daddy, and he desperately needs to see them.

When the only contact you have with your child is controlled by an unforgiving system, every phone call you receive from your incarcerated loved one, every visitation day you get to attend is as joyous as watching their first steps. I pray his first steps out that door will lead him to a life where better decisions are made. I pray he can recognize the chance of a better life depends on his choices.

As with my son’s incarceration being something you can’t help but be somewhat embarrassing, I don’t give up on my son, and I’ve learned to hold my head up, get counseling help when I feel I just can’t take much more. That in itself is a mental condition. I’ve tried to use this as a way to encourage people to put they’re embarrassment aside, take that first baby step and get help.

Mental illness is not something to be ashamed of. Refusing to get help is. Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you are suffering from an untreated mental illness. One person didn’t and a whole family is suffering. It doesn’t have to be that way.

Winter has hit Arkansas, and it is beautiful! Like the ocean, a ground covered in freshly fallen snow, is a picture of peace, calm, and beautiful. But it is also a thing of strength. The way it can take over and cover the landscape is majestic.

There’s a little park next to my house. Most if the time it’s full of kids throwing a ball back and forth, or the little ones swinging in the swings and climbing the slide. During the summer the little park echos the sounds of children laughing under a parent’s watchful eye, or hums with the sound of lawnmowers as the city maintains it to keep it clean.

Today, the little park next door is quiet. No children are playing, no birds are singing, no lawnmowers are humming. Today, Pugh Park is a picture of calm, peace, serenity, and an example of God’s hand as He releases the bright newness of a blanket of snow. I can’t quit saying how beautiful it is.

There is no sound when snow falls. There might be wind accompanying the snow and the sound of howling interrupts the serenity and pierces the calm. Sometimes the silence is interrupted by the pelting of the freezing rain. The first glimpse of the freshly fallen snow, after the wind stops howling and the sleet stops pelting, is a picture of what I would think peace would look like.

I know to my northern readers, you may not see snow in the same way as we southerners do. When the heavens send down the weather of winter, we don’t usually get snow. We usually get the nemesis of the roads – ice, freezing rain, sleet, the stuff that sends more people waiting in a ditch for the tow truck to get around to you. If we get snow, it is usually after ice. We turn on our faucets to a thin stream in the hope our pipes don’t freeze.

Of course, any experienced Southerner has already made the obligatory trip to the local grocery store to buy the “anticipated winter storm staples”- milk, bread and eggs. I never knew why that combination has become part of our nature, and I don’t remember hurrying to get those “necessary items”, but more likely I can be found in the dog food aisle!

I’m going to put on my fuzzy PJs, get out an amazingly soft blanket, love on my dogs, and watch the layers of cotton blanketing my yard as it still flutters down.

Grab you snuggle buddy, turn up the fire, and stay safe!

I wish mental health wasn’t such a “judgement word”. I wonder if it’s that judgement that keeps those affected by mental illness from seeking the help they so desperately need. It amazes me at the number of people who suffer one or more of the many mental disorders that will not seek help, or take needed medication.

I have found out from having a family member with Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar Disorder that mental illness also affects those who love and try to live with the mentally ill person. While I’m sure the person affected with the disorder is suffering in ways those of us not affected could never imagination, family and friends are affected in ways the mentally ill person can not see.

I have seen lives ruined during a mania episode that set in motion a destructive action that caused irreparable harm to the person unlucky enough to be at the other end of that mania. The person at the rage end of this illness have had their own character and their name damaged or in some incidents, irreparably destroyed, careers were lost, marriages were destroyed, and babies were growing up in a unsafe home, an unstable home, with a dysfunctional family.

Knowing someone personally who is dealing with this as a victim, I have seen them arrested, and convicted, and a no contact issued, and has two small children. A false claim of assault call was made to local police by his spouse, and only she was asked anything. There was no evidence of any assault, but instead he was loaded into the police car without even a shirt on in winter weather. She would threaten to do that every time he said or did anything she didn’t like, and that was almost daily.

This incident got me wondering how many men are serving time, or living ruined lives because of false assault allegations. In researching this, I also noticed everything out there that speaks of abuse and assault, the articles are speaking to the woman. In this particular situation, the husband is the victim of verbal and emotional abuse every day. He suffers indescribable indignities every day. His children hear all this. He has become so beat down, the life of him has been literally sucked out of him. He is a shell of the man he once was. Why does no one care about the abuse of men?

I would love to be an advocate for those men who have truly been falsely accused and convicted of assault without concrete evidence it ever really happened. I would like to see the accuser to be required to serve the same amount of time as the man she falsely accused.

Don’t misunderstand me. I know there are women who have truthfully been assaulted, abused etc., and my heart goes out to them. They deserve justice. I just know there are others who claim abuse but never experience it. They should be ashamed to make a mockery of those who really suffer. Excuse me for saying this so bluntly, but a friend once told me her son made the statement he was never going to win against his children’s mother because he has a p—-s! I wonder just how right he is!

It’s another year, which calls for my word of the year. The last few years that word has been “Hope”, and I renewed that word year after year, because I still hang on to how I still have hope the drama in my life will start to take a better turn. I still have hope that the mountain my family faces will somehow quit growing and instead start to shrink.

I have decided the word “Hope”needed a buddy to help it along. If I was going to see any Hope, I needed to add “Faith” to make “Hope” stay in my heart. So this year I made up my own word for the year.”Hopfath”, because it is going to take hope and faith working together to help me see the mountain starting to chisel piece by piece.

I still have too many moments of doubt as to whether God even hears my plea, too many doubts that I’ll ever see my hope become reality, too many times my faith falters, too many times I have had to ask God to forgive me for the weak hope and the even weaker faith.

I just have to tell myself “Don’t Give Up”! That mountain will come down, in God’s time.

Thinking back to Halloweens past. When the kids were little, I made all their costumes. They didn’t really like the scary stuff so we had tame decorations. As they got older, we ventured out a little with that. My husband being a master plumber and a faithful coca-cola drinker, felt it only appropriate to take one of his overalls and a flannel shirt, stuff them, add a pumpkin head, set him on a toilet in the front yard, with a coke can in one hand and a plunger in the other. Our pre-teen daughter was mortified and said it was embarrassing. We told her it was a parents privilege to embarrass their children any time they could. Success!!!

We went from cute little kid friendly Halloween parties, to more adult themed parties. The costumes got less cutesy and more adult. I was always amazed at the creativity of some people in their choice of costumes! As for me, I was usually the traditional witch, cat, gypsy, or hippie. So much different from the costumes we see today!

I never really cared that much for Halloween, but I loved seeing the kids as they rang the doorbell. There is nothing more precious than seeing a child having fun. Just like there is nothing that make me smile bigger than to hear a baby laugh! Oh, the innocence of the very young! If we could just keep that innocence as we grow older.

What are some of your Halloween memories? Were you in it for the scare factor, with ugly green faced witches, big hairy spiders, ghouls and goblins, blood, guts and gore? Or, were you more into the tamer friendly looking ghosts, carved pumpkins, maybe a bat or two, or a scarecrow sitting on a bale of hay.

Whatever your Halloween flavor, HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Be safe out there!

Today would have been our 50th anniversary, designated as the “Golden” anniversary. I would have loved to be celebrating that today! It never seems like enough time. We were married 42 years when I lost Gary, but we were together for 45.

I am thankful for those 45 years, and today I will remember all the memories we shared, good and bad, as both are part of our story. Gary was a good man, a good husband, a good father, a good Papoo, and a good friend to many. I thank God for bringing us together.

I have learned how to get through the loss, but I’ll never get over it. I am now, after 8 years, finally trying to rebuild my life. It had taken a while to learn to go from that “we” to that “me” I struggled with early on in this journey. I’ve learned I really am strong, both physically and mentally.

I’ve had to deal with more crisis than I would have liked. I’ve learned things about more “stuff” than I wanted to, and I would have rather been able to stay ignorant about. I’ve have had to learn to fight battles my husband used to fight for me.

It’s usually in times of crisis or distress that we seek the Lord more. My faith has grown, as I know God had my hand through the roughest spots. He still has my hand as I try to honor my husband’s memory by being the best widow I can be.

To my husband in Heaven: “Gary, I still miss you, still think of you everyday, and will always love you. You always told me, “You got this, Babe!” Happy Anniversary, and “I’ve got this” until we meet again.”

I’ve become so disillusioned with humanity with so much hate and judgement about things the people who hate the most know nothing about. But, the other day, I experienced an act of kindness from a small group of boys enjoying a game of basketball down the street from where my son lives.

I was taking my 2 1/2 year old grandson, and my 4 1/2 year old granddaughter for a walk. My granddaughter is autistic, and my grandson has a yet to be diagnosed condition that has delayed his ability to walk.

One of the boys ask her if she wanted to throw the ball. She was thrilled! Of course the ball didn’t get anywhere near the goal, but they clapped for her all the same. One of the boys ask her if she wanted to do it again, picked her up and raised her to the goal and gave her the ball. It still wasn’t going to go in the basket, so just as she threw it, one of the other boys hit it the rest of the way in. She was so excited!

We walked past these three boys, looked to be 10/11, playing basketball. My granddaughter stopped to watch them and seemed to be enjoying what they were doing, My grandchildren don’t get out of the house very often (the reason why would take up a whole new post) and has never really been around other children to know how to interact.

I don’t know where these boys live, but I wish I could tell their parents what kind boys they were. It just took a couple of minutes to a make a little girl’s day and make a grandmother’s heart smile.

Here we are, still sitting at the bottom of that huge mountain. All we can do is keep trying to chip away at it, but our efforts are as if we were using nothing more than a fork. Although we don’t want to give up our efforts, it’s time to stop and turn it over to the one who so effortlessly can move that mountain.

I’m a Mama Bear. I will do anything to protect my children/grandchildren, fight for them, guide them , trade my life for theirs if I needed to. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for them. But…I’m an enabler.

I do far more for one of my children than I should. I tell myself I do what I do for the two babies involved, and I truly believe that to be true. If I was to quit trying to kid myself, I would have to admit I do it for their daddy, too. He’s my youngest, and the neediest. He’s the one who is so lost at the very bottom of that mountain that he doesn’t have the physical, mental, or emotional strength to climb or even try to chip away at it. For every inch of progress made, he gets knocked back a foot. He just tries to get through each day and shield his children as best he can. He is a victim of verbal and emotional abuse. No, women aren’t the only ones who can be a victim. I know. I’ve experienced firsthand the daily hell he endures.

Friends, if you suffering from any type of mental illness, please seek help. There is no shame is admitting that you can’t deal with the symptoms of your mental illness yourself. Don’t expect your friends and family to be able to cope with it either. Get the help you need so not only will you have a better life, but your family can hopefully heal from the trauma you caused them. Seeking help is not a weakness.

People have a tendency to think all abuse victims are women. As I stated before, I can attest to the fact this is absolutely not true. Granted the abuse dished out from the female to the male is usually more verbal, it’s still abuse! Suffering from 24 hours of indignities being shouted at you is definitely abuse! Men can fill trapped in this abusive situation just as women victims fill trapped. Men are just more likely to suffer in silence so as to not appear weak.

My son stays in his current situation out of fear of the unknown. He’s afraid of losing his kids. At least by staying, he feels he is in a better position to protect his children. Seeing as the courts tend to lean toward the female having custody and control, he would have to worry every time they were in her custody. She can be in a full blown psychotic episode, screaming indignities and shouting accusations that verify her craziness, to the quiet, scared victim in the snap of a finger. I’ve seen it and experienced it first hand when I had to call the police to defuse the situation after she threatened to beat me up. I might add I’m 69, 4’ 11”, she’s 34, about 5’9”, and unhealthily skeleton thin. My 90 year old mother is traumatized every time we go to see the grand babies. She calls her mom over to jump right in and scream her own indignities at us.

She’s a big part of that mountain, but even her psychosis is only a pimple on that mountain’s butt! We spend a lot of time just trying to hide on the opposite side of the mountain from her until we can see the mountain coming down.

It’s a tragic, sad, unnecessary situation, bought about because she has been diagnosed with multiple mental illnesses and refuses medication or treatment of any kind.

Yes, I’m an enabler to make sure my precious grand babies are not left in need. I will not give up! God have mercy on us all!

I recently had the pleasure of celebrating my Mom’s 90 birthday! I feel so blessed to still have my Mom.

The female parent has been called by different names. There is Mother, Mama, Mommy, Mum, and what I call mine, Mom. I’m not sure why I settled on “Mom”, but it just became what I called her. I guess it is like when a new grandchild is born, grandparents have this idea of what they want to be called, but then a name comes out those sweet mouths, and that becomes what you are known as from then on, and it suddenly becomes perfect!

My Mom is everything a good Mom should be. She was my cheerleader, my mentor, my ride or die, my best friend. She led me to Christ, and prays for me everyday. After my husband passed away, she became also my rock. She does so much more for me than I could ever repay.

In high school, my Mom was a majorette. I can remember watching her twirl the baton even when I was a little girl. Neighborhood girls wanted to learn how to twirl, so she taught them.

My Mom always like to dance, and she would hear music, and even in church, she was at the very least, toe tapping to the beat. She and my Dad could jitterbug all over the dance floor. I took tap dancing lessons as a young girl, but I was much older and well into later stages of adulthood before I decided I really liked dancing.

Mom had a beautiful soprano voice and sang many a solo in church. Her voice would float out over the congregation and everyone was listening to her angelic voice. She doesn’t sing solos anymore. Sinus problems and just aging has changed her voice. She still sings, but not solos any more. People always said I was her Mini Me, as we look alike, share a sense of humor, and love our families deeply. But, I don’t have her beautiful voice. God didn’t pass that gene on to me. I was the drama student instead.

My Mom became Mimi when the grandkids came along. Even the friends of those grandchildren always called her Mimi, even today. That’s who she is.

No one knows when it will be our time to pass from this earth, and I’m not sure I would want that kind of advanced notice. I just know we all have a time to go. I hope my Mom lives to be 100, but because we don’t know, I strive to enjoy every moment I get to share with her. We talk every day, and most days we are together. We run errands, go out for lunch, shop, or just get out. I’ll be there for her as long as the good Lord allows her to be here.

For those of you reading this who have already lost your Mom, I’m sorry for your loss. For those like me who still have our Mom, cherish every moment. Make memories to last a lifetime. If they tell the same story more than once, listen anyway. Most importantly, always tell her how much you love her, everyday!