My Mother.

My mom is my best friend. I know a lot of people say that about their mothers, but it really holds true for my mom. For as long as I can remember, my mom has been my teacher, my advocate, always in my corner to remind me that I'm never to old to snuggle up and tell her what's wrong, but she's also never been afraid to give me a push to do what's right. My mother has always allowed me to make my own mistakes, never criticizing me for the poor choices I've made; instead, she uses them as an opportunity to help me learn, grow, and become the woman I am today. The things my mother have taught me are varied: from teaching me to ALWAYS decorate in odd numbers, teaching me that you should always use the bathroom before you put your snow pants on, how to check if spaghetti is cooked through (throw it against the wall) to things that are a bit deeper... such as always standing up for what you believe in, keeping family first, never regretting the choices you make, and learning from your mistakes. When I was trapped in an abusive relationship, my mother was there to ease my pain, get help, and remind me again and again that what happened was NOT my fault. When I was afraid to apply for an internship that would move me halfway across the country, she reminded me that no matter how far away I was, she and my dad would always be there for me, only a phone call away.

I know there is nothing I could ever do that would show my mother how much she means to me, and how thankful I am for having her in my life. There is no diamond large enough, no flower bright enough, no painting beautiful enough that could reflect the degree of gratitude I have for her. When I see my mother, I feel at home. When I see my mother, I feel safe. And when I see my mother, I know there is nothing that could replace her in my heart.

Perhaps most important of all, my mother has taught me that no matter what, I can always come home. Even though I'm an adult and living on my own, she calls me to tell me she loves me, that she's proud of who I am, and most of all I will NEVER be done learning from my mother. I know that every child on the planet thinks that their mother is God's gift to humanity, and the best mother on the planet, and I don't doubt that to them... she is. But to me, my mom is more than my mother, she's more than the person who taught me to tie my shoes and who sang me a lullaby when I was fussy... my mother is my pillar of strength, and I'm proud to be her daughter.

"Remember Beloved, God has no pleasure in the death of the wicked." -Ezekiel 18:23

Anyone who knows me can reaffirm the following statement: I am, in no way, shape, or form, a religious person. I do not attend church service, I don't receive any of the sacraments, I don't believe in organized religion, and I find the Church to be corrupt.  That being said, I do identify with Christianity (well, the idea of Christianity, not the practice) and I do consider myself a Christian, no matter how non-practicing I may be. 


I've been thinking on it, and everyone in this country and across the world is aware of what occurred on May 1st, 2011. After ten years of searching, the United States has finally won the world's longest game of hide and go seek. Call me a pessimist if you wish, but I truly never believed we'd find him. Ten years of searching through mountain caves and he winds up being at a compound worth millions of dollars in a Pakistani city. Who'd have thought?


As I read countless facebook status updates and received text messages celebrating the death of Osama bin Laden, I began to process my own emotions and gauge my reactions. How did this make me feel? I, for one, am not a supporter of the death penalty here or abroad. I realize that his death was the only guarantee of keeping the world safe from his terror. But I did not want to celebrate with the rest of the world. I felt relief that he is dead, and am proud of the SEALs that risked their lives in this operation, but I don't feel like celebrating death. That's what he did when the towers toppled over in a cloud of fire, smoke, and shards of glass, ending the lives of thousands. Do I want to be grouped into the same category as him? Not a chance in hell.


Am I sad that he's gone? Not in the slightest. He was a horrible, wicked person. He murdered thousands of people, and truth be told, he deserved what he had coming to him... but that idea does not make me smile, or make me want to cheer.... it makes me terribly sad for the world we live in.  Where death of another human being, no matter how wicked, brings rejoicing in the streets. 


I have to ask, after ten years, two wars, over 900,000 deaths, and over $1,000,000,000,000 dollars in expenses for the War on Terror in Afghanistan, Iraq, and around the globe, we've managed to catch our number one man. Is it worth it? That remains to be seen.


This man's death is the start to a multitude of possible consequences.