When I was about 14 years old, this serious obsession with not taking people for granted began. Before my mother would go to bed each night, she would have to tuck me in, and I would have to be the last of my siblings to be kissed otherwise I would literally have a mental break down. It was horrible--I felt like I was a prisoner in my own body!

Eventually my little siblings caught on to my "save-the-best-for-last" kiss, and grew jealous. Every night was a fight to the death over who would get the last kiss. Eventually my mother had to give us turns. It didn't matter that an order existed. I would still wait until lights were out and then I'd cry myself to sleep. I would think horrible thoughts about my mother dying. How ironic, right?

You think that has a hint of irony? Well I am about to share something very interesting with you.

When I was about two years old, my mother would have a beer every now and then. Me, being innocent and naive, would ask my "mommy" for a "sip of her soda."

She would always tell me, "Mariah, this is not soda and you can't have this."

I cried and begged and pleaded until she finally said, "suit yourself," and gave me a sip.

My face twisted at the nasty new taste I was experiencing. "Yuck!" I yelled.

My mom, just like me now, got off on watching other people getting hurt, getting scared, and getting grossed out.

So this, became a new thrill for her. She would offer me her "soda," time and time again, and every time I would tell her I didn't believe her. Then I would cave and taste it and my face would twist in disgust, just as she had hoped for! Talk about sick humor!

That's when the recurring dreams began.

About two or three times a year I would have this recurring dream, all the way up to my mother's death.

We would always be in the car alone together. She would be driving, and I would be in the back seat in my booster chair. She always had a drink in her cup holder, and I would always beg her for a sip of her soda. She would never answer me, and I would always undo my seat belt and peer into the front seat to find her missing, and no one would be driving. I would then have to take over the wheel.

As I said before, I dreamt up this scenario many times throughout my life. The very last time I had the dream, just a few months before my mother's death, the seat wasn't empty. The seat had a full-bodied skeleton in it.

A few days ago, I finally had a revelation about what the dream had meant. 

You see, ever since my mother's alcohol addiction had began, I would be the only one to stand up to her. I would do anything I could whether it be praying, guilt-tripping, or just simply taking it away when she wasn't looking. 

In the dream I was asking her for what I thought was her "soda," just like when I was a kid. I was always trying to take it away from her, and she'd never give it up. That road that she was on, (her driving the car in the dream) led to death, (her missing/ the skeleton,) because she would not give up the alcohol, (childhood ignorance made me assume soda in the dream.) Now since she has passed away, it is me who has to "take the wheel," and choose my own path. Every time I had mounted the driver's seat, the "soda" no longer existed, and I was able to safely park the car. I think this means I will break the family cycle by not letting alcohol control my life, and this is all because I am literally a miracle child. My mother's real dad died from overdose, my mother died from alcoholism, and I will never choose those paths. I am only an exception by God's grace!

My point about all this is that though OCD is a horrible disorder, God was able to take something bad and use it for good. Because of that odd obsessive behavior, I got in more kisses and hugs from my mother than I probably would have before. She would have died and I would have had so many regrets! I think that this is why of all my siblings and family, I was able to accept her death the quickest.

I have had this behavior with others before, and it actually pushed them away. I made the kisses and hugs a chore, but with my mom, she never took my kisses for granted. She was flattered we all fought over her kisses, but saddened that she couldn't please all of us.

After I accepted Christ into my heart, the OCD completely left me. I had a blessed hope that I would be able to live with those I love all throughout eternity!

I still do focus on not taking things for granted, I just don't beat myself up too badly when I realize that I have. Sometimes it will just hit me. I will be taking a nice shower, and realize I have the heat on, and a towel to dry myself off with, and nice shampoos and conditioners and body washes to smell good, and walls with a locked door for maximum privacy. I have way more than what most have.

Sometimes, I look at myself in the mirror, I think to myself, "Wow, I am truly beautiful." But I don't sit there with this smug look of vanity and pride with my  nose in the air. I actually thank God because beauty fades, and I accept that.

I want to collect moments, not things. I am terrible at fashion. I am a T-shirt and jeans kind of gal. I only know how to do my hair two ways...UP and DOWN. I don't need to lust after money so I can wear name brands, or wear the nicest makeup, or possess the latest technology. Life is so much more than collecting things. I never want to be a materialistic human being. 

When people hear the phrase, "Live every moment like it's your last, or "YOLO," as the modern adolescent generation says, they think of partying, getting drunk, or banging every dude or chick that is willing. That is not what I think of.

I cherish people. I love people. I serve people. I appreciate the small things, like my laundry detergent, my A/C, my running water, electricity, a roof. But then there are the big things that I appreciate. My christian brothers and sisters, my husband, and my son.

Today I actually posted a video of me singing a song that I made up for my son. It's in Spanish so you may not understand. It says:

"Nenito, chiquidito, 

que lindo tu estas.

Tienes mi corazón.

Tu eres mi amor,

y tu sabes mejor,

que te quiero mucho."

In English, it means:

Little boy, small boy,

how beautiful you are.

You have my heart.

You are my love,

and you know very well,

that I love you so much.

It is not the most creative song in the world, but it is my song of adoration to my little Isaiah. I look at him and I can't help but wonder how on EARTH am I going to ever love another baby the same? I guess I won't know until baby number two arrives!

My "Song of Admiration" to my beautiful baby boy! <3