Here is my mother. She is, without exaggeration, an absolute gem. And today she was honoured for 20 years' service to the kids hospital at Westmead. Mum says that she knew she wanted to be a nurse at age 5. She wanted to take after her Great Aunty Soph, who was a nurse, and is my namesake. As an aside, Great Aunty Soph's old house still stands on the highway at Springwood, next to the church of Christ. I drove past it the other weekend and I think the little lane next to the church is named after her. Cool, no?
But back to Mum. For about 24 years she's looked after tiny, newborn babies who need intensive care (before that she did other things in nursing). She recently retired after having back surgery.
What is remarkable is the whole time she's worked in neonatal intensive care, she's never focused on the difficulties or tragedies that go along with working with very ill babies, although there are many. What I have heard her speak about, however, are the miracles, the joys and the families; the families who come from everywhere.
You see, sickness does not discriminate, and nor does Mum. She has genuinely loved and served people from all walks of life. Over the years I've heard about babies who've come to the ward from Fiji, remote indigenous communities, Mosman, Penrith and everywhere in between.
It's not really cool to love your parents a lot (or at least to admit to it) but I do. And I felt all mushy today reflecting on what a wonderful person is my mother. She is my best friend, and I admire her more than she probably knows.
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