I want to tell you about my Mom as seen through my eyes, in the hopes that you will have a better understanding why I think she was so incredible.

I have seen so many pictures of Mom this week from when she was younger. I have been glued to her wedding album for the last several days. She was so beautiful in her dress, as every girl should be. Before MS, she was in many respects just like you or me; happy, healthy, surrounded by a loving family. And then she started falling down. As the years went by her disease took little bits and pieces of her from us. Mom knew what my birthday was, but couldn't tell me how old I was. When we'd take road trips to Virginia I'd ask her what kind of music she used to listen to as a teenager, and she couldn't remember. Over the years it stripped her of many memories and abilities, but the one thing her disease couldn't do was wipe out the core of who she was.

My Mom loved us kids. She made us dinner every night while she could, making sure we got our recommended daily allowance of vegetables. She helped make our Halloween costumes. She was determined that we'd be well educated and read to us every night when we were little. She tucked us in and gave us goodnight kisses. She was my soccer mom.

My Mom was a social animal. She loved to talk to people. She sat in that chair for so many years and the only way for her to go to people was to call them on the phone. She would call us kids all of the time. When I'd speak to her after work she'd often be bubbly because she got to talk to Amy, or Grandma Fish, or Kate, or her Mom, or any number of wonderful people who had taken the time to brighten her day. She would have loved to have been here today with all of you.

My Mom was devious. Sometimes she didn't call just to talk. Sometimes she wanted something. If Dad forgot to cover her feet with the blanket, Grandma Fish would get a phone call because she was cold. If Sarah didn't have time to get mints from the store and run them over, I was certain to hear about it. It was OK, though. We all knew she did it, and she knew we knew. Mom was a liar, too. She'd do anything to get that extra piece of chocolate. She would lie straight to my face about things to get her way, I'd call her on it, and we'd just laugh.

My Mom was a fighter. MS did horrible things to her, but she never let it beat her down. Every morning she woke up to cramps in both legs. Her back muscles would seize regularly from being seated all day long. Her ankles buckled when she stood up because they had been sprained so often. But Mom seldom complained. She grit her teeth, let it pass, and went on with her day. Over this last year, I think she actually gained some of her mobility back. I remember being so proud of her when she put her socks on herself for the first time in ages. My Mom never stopped trying.

My Mom was kind. She remembered when Carrie had rough exams and often asked her about them. She called to check up on people when they weren't feeling well. She was always there to listen to me complain about having meetings on Mondays, although usually she told me to suck it up.

My Mom was silly. She loved to laugh. She had an amazing sense of timing and every once in a while she would just make us laugh uncontrollably. She played along in everything and was game for just about anything but letting me give her a hair cut like mine. Her nose ran for two decades straight, or so she would have you believe when she wanted to change the subject. She liked to try to tell jokes with my sister - Sarah would set it up, and Mom would try to deliver the punch line but start laughing half way through.

My Mom was perfect, and I'm going to miss so many things now that she's gone:

• her smile
• the way she said "hi Chris!" when she answered the phone
• her giving me a shoe wedgie when I used her as a foot rest
• playing Uno with the girls and laughing when she beat us
• taking her for walks around the neighborhood with Carrie
• watching the kids go by on Halloween
• giving her shampoo mohawks
• taking her Christmas shopping
• arm wrestling to see who was toughest
• watching her go from tears to laughter after I did something silly

She was kind, determined, funny, and loving. She helped raise three wonderful children with her husband. She fought through horrible circumstances to the end and in spite of it all was a happy person. She was an inspiration to many of us and will be missed more than words can ever express.

I would like to end on a personal note. For many years now, Mom has needed help standing up. Getting out of bed in the morning, going to the bathroom, getting in her chair, getting up for the bathroom before lunch, getting in bed for her nap, getting out of bed, going to the bathroom again, getting into her chair, going to the bathroom, and then getting in bed for the night. Every single day this pattern repeated over and over again. I know that when I'm 95 years old I'll still be able to reproduce the technique I used to lift Mom. I stick my right hand under her left armpit, squeeze her knees together with mine, and lift with my right shoulder and legs. I'd put her in a big bear hug once she got her feet, pat her on the back and tell her good job, and then complete the transfer. Can you imagine the thousands of times I got to hug my Mom like this over the course of my life? Every single day I was home I got to give her a hug and tell her she did good. I'm the luckiest son in the world.

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