Make the Most of Every Day

To begin my story, I would like to share a little about myself. My name is Michelle, and I am 56 years old. During these 56 years, I have faced many challenges. My hope is that by sharing some of my life experiences—and what I have learned from them—I can inspire, comfort, or help at least one other person.

“The survivors in this world are not the strongest or the most intelligent; they are the most adaptable.”

—Charles Darwin

Life is forever changing. The Lord has helped me through every challenge, and without my spirituality, I don’t know how I would have made it this far. I truly believe you need a higher power—whatever that may mean for you.

Yoga has become essential for me in maintaining my peace. My goal is that no matter what storms life brings, with the Lord and what I have learned through my yoga practice, I can remain calm through the storm. If you ever have the opportunity to take a yoga instructor course—DO IT! My intention in taking the course was not to become a yoga instructor, but to learn more about the yoga way of life. It was life-changing for me.

I have so much to share that I will be writing a series of stories. Many people have impacted my life, and my first story begins with my mother. A few words to describe her would be loving, caring, kind, courageous, and a warrior.

We only have one mother. If you are lucky enough to still have yours, treasure her and the time you have together. This year marks 16 years without mine.

My mother and I didn’t always see eye to eye. She was strong-willed, and so am I—I guess I get that from her. Over time, when we disagreed, I learned to simply agree to disagree and move on. I didn’t want to waste time being upset with her. She was a wonderful role model: a hard worker who taught me right from wrong, made me responsible, and always encouraged me.

One of my life lessons has been learning not to be hardheaded. I didn’t always take her advice, and she was always right. Listen to your mother. Take her advice.

She supported me in anything and everything I wanted to do. She was an amazing grandmother to my son and loved him with her whole heart.

When my parents found themselves in financial trouble, they made the difficult decision to sell the family home where I grew up in Key West and move to Tampa. One of her best friends lived there, as well as my grandfather—my father’s father. I was devastated. I felt angry and abandoned, even though I knew they were making the right financial decision for themselves. I never said anything to them because I didn’t want to hurt them or make them feel guilty.

I visited them three to four times a year, and any chance I had, I would go. I missed them terribly. I spoke to my mother on the phone every day. Looking back, I realize I took for granted the time we had when she lived in the same city. Don’t take the people you love for granted.

When my mother moved, she was 54 years old. Considering that I am now 56, she was still so young. Within three to four months of moving, she began losing weight drastically. By the fifth month, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer—a rare type that, in her case, was benign and did not metastasize. Although it was life-saving, she had to undergo a major surgery called the Whipple procedure. She survived it.

Her next health crisis was a heart attack. While driving, the heart attack caused her to run off the road and hit a telephone pole, breaking her back. She underwent another surgery—this one lasting nine hours—to have rods, screws, and plates inserted. During her recovery, because she had to lie flat for extended periods, she developed pneumonia and had to be air-vacced by helicopter to a major hospital. She survived that as well.

Within the next year, she developed stomach pain that turned out to be an abdominal aortic aneurysm. Once again, surgery—and once again, she survived. She was later hospitalized briefly for another bout of pneumonia.

On the day she was released from the hospital, she and my father returned home. My father had a part-time job and planned to call in sick that afternoon, but she encouraged him to go, telling him she would be fine.

That day, a fire broke out on the first floor of their home. My mother was in her bedroom directly above where the fire started. She was trapped. She knew the house was on fire. She knew she couldn’t get out.

My mother did not survive. She was 60 years old.

Initially, I was in shock—and I believe, in some ways, I still am. I’m not sure I have fully processed this emotionally. I feel as though I tucked it somewhere deep in my soul. I get up every day and go on with a smile, because that is what life requires of us—and because that is what she would want.

If I can be even half as strong as my mother was, I will be okay in this lifetime.