My mother, Emily Nash, never turned her back on people in need.

So many times in our life together, I’d find her tending to complete strangers who had rung our doorbell needing assistance with directions or help after an accident.

We lived on the corner of a big intersection in Louisville, Kentucky, and the main road had a wicked curve. Mom always let everyone in, explaining with compassion, not naiveté, “I’m afraid it’ll be another Jesus.”

I feel her when I wear her favorite gold cross. She was a devout Methodist and along with my father, a charter member of her church.

While I scolded her for it, fearing the worst, the truth is that I wish I could be more like her.

She passed away in 2010 but every now and then I catch a glimpse of her in the mirror, through a fleeting expression of mine or in a gesture of my hands. I feel her when I wear her favorite gold cross. She was a devout Methodist and along with my father, a charter member of her church, where I’m still a member today.

Mostly she lives on in my life in so many things she taught me, among them:

To attend church regularly. Mom grew up in a little rural church in East Tennessee, in the shadow of the Smoky Mountains. As a girl, every year she received a certificate for perfect attendance. That was something of a miracle, considering she had to walk a long distance in all kinds of weather, challenge a steep hill, and climb over a rail fence while dodging a bull. She also took pains to keep clean the pretty little dresses her mother made for her.

Nothing stopped her. I once asked her why. “It’s just always been so uplifting to go to church and learn,” she said. “And when things get too big to carry, I just ask God to help me.”

To be kind. She was the epitome of a Southern lady, someone who cared deeply and devotedly. A family friend says she radiated such goodness that “surely she was the model Margaret Mitchell chose for Melanie Wilkes.” Once when I was about five, I made fun of a child with a facial disfigurement. My mother snatched me up. “Don’t do that, Alanna. You never know what’s going to happen to you before you leave this world.”

To be patient. She always saw the best in people and believed things would turn out well. If I was disappointed about a missed opportunity, she insisted something better would come along. If I complained someone was late in paying me a fee they owed, she would look on the bright side: “That check will still be good when it gets here.”

She always saw the best in people and believed things would turn out well.

Who do you think would win the Presidency?

By completing the poll, you agree to receive emails from LifeZette, occasional offers from our partners and that you've read and agree to our privacy policy and legal statement.

To love to read. My mother came to school one day when I was in first grade and asked to see the library. There wasn’t one, the principal told her. With no library experience but seeing a great need, Mom found a room, formed a literacy committee, and over the next five years requisitioned 4,156 books to create the first official elementary school library in Louisville, and perhaps the entire state. It’s no accident her daughter grew up to be an author.

To never give up. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” she always said, and I’ve been testing that philosophy in the years since her passing. Both my parents loved their beautiful old home about as much as they loved their children, and they wanted me to live in it after they were gone, to keep it and tend to it. I have plowed through more than half my meager retirement savings to make the necessary repairs and still have a long way to go. I have no idea how I will pay for it.

Why not sell it? Because it is a house of love. It is home.

The Christmas before she died, Mom, frail and fading, asked me what I wanted for a present. “I want you to write me a letter telling me what I mean to you,” I replied.

Her big green eyes grew watery. “That’s easy,” she said. “Two words: Every thing.”

“Every thing” – two words in Mom’s book – is what we were to each other. And always will be.

Mom and Me Profile Shot
The author, right, with her devoted mother, Emily Nash.