In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Dream Teacher.”
My mom would be my dream teacher. She died in 1996 after brave, four-year battle with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS or Lou Gehrig’s Disease). I was 21 years old, at the point in my life where I could finally appreciate the lessons of my stern mother. But time was not on our side.
Today, my mom would teach me to enjoy life, not sweat the little things, and focus on my blessings. I need this because I tend to worry and stress over everything. She would roll her eyes skyward, sigh in exasperation (she did this ALOT), and proceed to lecture me. This time, I would not behave like an insolent, omniscient teenager. Instead, I would listen intently, absorb every single word, letter by letter, and savor the moment.