no title. wrote it for a contest.

Jamie Lewis was the strongest woman I knew. I was inspired by her. She always kept her head up in even the worst of situations. Jamie gave birth to me at the ripe age of 21, fresh out of college and scared to death of what was in store for her. My father had joined the army and, eventually, "found someone else" somewhere down the line. My grandparents lived in another state. She was practically alone. She raised me, regardless, and managed to keep her sanity, as well as maintain a productive career.

When I was a baby, she bought a small snow globe that would play The Wind Beneath my Wings when wound up. She’d told me that it helped her put me to sleep when I was a baby. As a child, I never paid much attention to the snow globe. It was always there, just a piece of decoration that I never thought would ever go away. I never fully appreciated its significance. One day, years later, my baby brother, being the curious kid that he was, found himself playing with the snow globe. I thought nothing of it until he dropped it. To my surprise, I cried as I watched its contents spill onto the floor. I picked up the small pieces and wound it up one last time, hoping the song would still play. When it didn’t, it felt like the end of the world. I didn’t quite know why, but it felt like something important had been snatched from me suddenly, and I didn’t know what to do but shed a tear.

We spent years trying to find a replacement for the snow globe, but nothing was the same. As all that time went on, the strong woman that was my mother was growing weak. When we found out she had cancer, it felt like the wind was being snatched from beneath my wings. She spent days at a time in the hospital. It frightened me to see her lying there, defenseless and frail. I couldn’t handle being in the same room with her for too long, afraid that I would break down and let loose the emotions I had taught myself to hold on to. I felt like I had to be strong in front of her, to let her know that everything she taught me about strength hadn’t gone to waste. Her last night, I stayed awake for hours, overcoming my fears and spending the night in that hospital room. That last night, I couldn’t hold on to my sorrow anymore, and I cried as I stroked my mother’s soft brown hair, softly singing The Wind Beneath My Wings until she closed her eyes, finally at rest.