My Take Tuesday: The Gift of a Mother

Some people are kind for appearances. Some are kind when it’s easy. Some are kind in exchange for praise. But my mother, Colleen Bott, is kind because it’s etched into her soul.

Her kindness is quiet and constant. It doesn’t seek recognition or applause. It simply is—moving through the world with quiet dignity, changing lives with a gentle touch, a thoughtful word, or a warm meal delivered before you even knew you were in need. Her kindness is not something she chooses each day; it is as natural to her as breathing.

Leap year holds a special kind of magic in our family. My mom was born on February 29, 1956, and every four years we mark the occasion with extra zest—making up for the birthdays that hide between calendar pages. And in the in-between years—like this one—we celebrate her on February 28th, never letting the absence of a date diminish the depth of our love and gratitude.

Of all the gifts a mother can give, none is more enduring than the gift of time. And my mother gave us that—freely, unconditionally, and with a heart full of love.

I remember one summer when she built us a clubhouse—not from wood or nails, but from a foldable card table and a piece of fabric. To an outsider, it might have seemed simple. But to us, it was a kingdom. With a mesh window and a perfectly hemmed doorway, it became the headquarters of the Circle-Four Clubhouse—a sanctuary of imagination filled with toy cars, He-Man figures, Legos, and Muscle Men. It was love, made visible through her creativity and care.

When I dreamed of climbing the tallest mountain, she packed my lunch. When I was sick, she stayed beside me. When I lost my way, she lit the path ahead—not with force or fanfare, but with her quiet, unwavering presence.

Her love does not boast. It does not demand. It does not tire.

It simply remains—ever-present, ever-true.

She never raised her voice to shape my destiny, nor pushed me toward grand ambition. Instead, she simply loved me—deeply, fiercely, and without condition. And in the safety of that love, I found the courage to chase dreams I hadn’t yet dared to claim.

Her presence doesn’t fill a room; it fills a heart. She’s the kind of woman who remembers your favorite dessert, notices when your eyes are heavy, and listens—even when your words falter. She gives everything, expects nothing, and somehow, still offers more.

How fortunate we are to have been raised by her. There is nothing she would not do for someone she loves. Her smile, when turned toward you, has the power to brighten even the darkest day. And when she says, “I love you, Isaac,” it reaches into the deepest part of me and reminds me that I am never alone.

One of the most formative lessons she ever taught me came not through reprimand, but through grace. As a boy, I once made a terrible mess with salt dough —spreading the mixture far beyond the cutting board and deep into the carpet. I panicked. “She’ll be so upset,” I thought. But when my mom walked into the room, she simply smiled and said, “Wow! When you play with salt dough, you really go all out!” I whispered, “I’m so sorry.” She knelt beside me and gently said, “Isaac, I will never get mad at you for making a mess. I’ll only be upset if you don’t clean it up.”

In that moment, I understood that I didn’t have to earn her love. It was already mine. Unconditional. Unshakable. It became the emotional foundation upon which I have built my life.

Over the years, I’ve made many messes—navigating life the best I could. And each time I stumbled, her love remained. She reminded me that messes can be cleaned up, and that she would always be there—steady, smiling, and full of grace.

She has been with me through every season—my valleys and my summits, my fears and my triumphs. Her wisdom, her faith, her patience—they are woven into every good part of me.

She lives what she believes. She practices what she preaches. Her life is the lesson. Her love, the message.

The writer of Proverbs 31 describes a woman of noble character, saying, “Her children rise up and call her blessed.” As her son, I gently say: she is my hero.

Mom, you are grace in motion.

You are strength wrapped in gentleness.

You are love—unconditional, unwavering, and unforgettable.

Thank you for every whispered prayer, every quiet sacrifice, and every moment you made me feel like the most important person in the world.

I love you with every part of me.

And that is My Take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM