From the Publisher

"Distinguished or different from what is ordinary or usual" is the Random House Dictionary definition of special. My mom, Jean Lester, is special and has the gift of making those around her feel special.

My first memory of how special she made me feel was while I was in second grade in Mrs. Whipple's class at Chief Kamiakin Elementary in Sunnyside. In the office, rings were for sale prior to Mother's Day. I gathered my pennies, nickels and perhaps a dime and bought the pink sparkly one at the top of the board. I don't recall whether it was for her birthday or for Mother's Day - some years, they were the same day.    

I could hardly control my excitement to give it to her.  She slipped that ring on and the elastic band fit perfectly. She wore it all evening, flexing her hand and making several comments about how much it meant to her. 

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I grew up with the greatest listener. Whatever was in my heart, I could spit it out, often at midnight or other inconvenient times. But she would always listen (without rolling her eyes) to every word I had to say. 

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Flour, salt and pepper were all my mom used for her fried chicken.  It was the best fried chicken ever! Served with mashed potatoes, milk gravy and green beans - it was one of my favorite meals. Leftovers of everything were always the norm. Mom was a great cook, and she shared that gift with family, those who were family by choice, and friends.   

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A dollar was better given for a special need than kept in your wallet. Dad gave Mom $400 a month in cash for groceries every month. They continued that process for decades. Mom created "hidey holes" to stash money in. She would slide us kids a little extra as we left the house at times. I recall a coworker of hers had a terrible thing happen to a loved one and Mom gave them money to get away for the weekend to recover. A few years ago, Dad started looking for those "hidey holes." What he found was nearly $10,000 in purses and boxes.  Every bit was saved out of her grocery budget.  

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My mom is special and that was her choice.  Life tried to make her something different, but she wasn't going to have it.   

She lost her mother in a traffic accident at a very young age. Her father reacted by abandoning their nine children. They were found by authorities in a house without food, causing five of them to be raised in North Carolina and the other four here in Washington.   

Raised in a foster home, she was diagnosed with polio at 16. She was placed in an iron lung and told she might die, and if she did live she'd never walk again. She is still walking. 

When she was 18, she moved to Yakima and lived at the YWCA while going to beautician school. After she graduated, my parents eloped in Idaho, then had a church wedding in Sunnyside, where they both went to school. They immediately left for San Diego, where my dad was stationed in the Navy.

Everything they owned fit in a couple of suitcases, but the love for each other could not be measured. My mom asked my dad to make two promises: That neither she nor their children would ever go hungry, and that the kids would never spend a night in jail (my dad, as a teenager, had spent a few nights in jail). Those promises were kept. 

She survived breast cancer in her early 50s, going through radiation without complaining.

Mom has  dementia and has not cooked in years, but she asked my sister and I what our favorite meal was because she wanted to have each of our families in to make them that special meal with dessert one more time. 

My mom is special and made sure I felt love, a full stomach, and witnessed a giving and gracious soul - all things she longed for in her early life. 

Being treated as someone special is a gift, but being special is a choice. My mom made that choice. What about you?