Let it be known that I’m writing this column to honor my mother.

She would like the style that will be used in this rendering, because I’m borrowing the advice from butterflies to honor her.

Mom was a rural woman. She grew up on a farm, and lived her whole adult life on a farm with her husband, my Dad, raising seven children. It was not an easy life. She worked hard doing the needed household chores like taking care of all of us kids, planting and tending to a garden, washing all of our dirty clothes, darning socks, making meals, canning vegetables and a myriad of other jobs.

Mom was special to me. Her quiet demeanor matched mine, and we bonded in many ways. Early on, she played our piano and I would stand beside her and whistle what she was playing. She urged me to read and study hard in school. Even now, as I watch monarch butterflies, I can hear her telling me to let my true colors show. I kept asking her what she meant, and she always replied that, one day, I’ll know what it means.

She wrote in her journals everyday. The notes were brief with descriptions of the weather, if anyone visited us or what was going on in the family. I like to think my urge to write came from her. Her writings are precious to me to this day.

While we could, we walked among her flower garden. She always mentioned how we must take time to smell the flowers. Whenever I see a butterfly landing on a flower, I am reminded of her words, and I smell the flower. Maybe that’s why I so enjoy a wine with soft floral scents — it reminds me of her.

As life moved along, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Her life slowly and dramatically changed, but she was always strong. As the disease reduced her mobility and her ability to do normal activities, she never complained. She continued to accomplish many of her usual tasks, but eventually those tasks became impossible to do.

Yet, she always looked for the sweetness in life. Again, standing beside her among the flowers and seeing butterflies flit from flower to flower, she always reminded me that they were searching for the sweetness of life. I don’t mean to turn her into a saint. Like all of us, she had a moments of “unsweetness,” but the sweetness was always there. I guess that’s why it’s pleasant to periodically have a glass of sweet wine.

In spite of her declining abilities, she always let her true colors show. She was a good person who loved her family and life the best she could.

There was a time when, as a ninth grader, I was asked by our pastor to read First Corinthians 13:1-13 to the congregation. I rehearsed it many times, but couldn’t understand some of it. I asked her what some of the verses meant when they stated that even though you can’t see clearly today, one day you will. She replied that one day I would understand. It still didn’t make sense to me — the dim wit. Then years later, I saw clearly what she was very clearly telling me. That one day I would fully understand what I didn’t understand at the time. Sorry it took me so long to realize your wisdom, Mom.

She taught me to always see the beauty in life even when life throws you a curve ball. To always see yourself as one of a kind, and no matter what, a disease does to you, you are beautiful.

Eventually, the disease won, but her legacy lives on today every time I see a butterfly fly to a flower. I am proud to have had her as my mom.

To all you moms out there — thank you!

As always, eat and drink in moderation, but laugh with reckless abandon!

Cheers!