From my mother I learned to be a professional. I learned to be even-tempered under pressure. I learned from her organization of thought and processes. I learned to order my thoughts, and to keep emotions from negatively influencing my decisions.

From my mother I learned the mechanics of good communication. I learned the techniques of active listening, and how to disagree with a person without attacking them.

From her I learned to set high expectations, first for myself, then for others. I learned that I should never expect from others what I don’t expect for myself. I learned the principles of principled leadership.

My mother’s example taught me perseverance. She was sexually molested by her father, repeatedly. She had every reason to be cold, distant and negative, but that is not how she was. She was an alcoholic, and that could have destroyed her life, but it didn’t. She could have collapsed with the weight of betrayal and pain, but she didn’t. Her father’s evil, her alcoholism and its attendant physical maladies were all obstacles, but never impediments. Her first and second love, her mother and father, committed the ultimate betrayal. He for molesting her, she for allowing it to happen. Yet she was able to emotionally connect to my father for over 50 years. Despite the horrible example of her parents, she was able to raise three successful children. Despite her alcoholism, she was able to have an outstanding professional career, obtained a Bachelor’s degree and then a Master’s degree, and made significant contributions to the processes of care at numerous hospitals.

From my mother I learned the value of a quiet discussion. Especially after my father died, I would sit with her, sipping coffee and having quiet discussions. I listened as she shared her life’s regrets, her favorite moments with the love of her life, and her joy at the way her children turned out. I would offer her insights, humorous commentary, but mainly listened. I learned more from my mother in that last year than I had all of my life. I know know that God decided I was ready to hear what she had to say.

My father’s death left a huge hole in my heart. It prepared me for the loss of my mother last year. It still sucked, but was not as devastating as it might otherwise have been. What her death did was remove the last parent from my life. No more quiet discussions, no more examples of perseverance, no more quiet pride in her children.

I miss her.