I see the shattered glass, and immediately, I'm lost in a memory. My mind races back and forth as I see flashbacks of plates being thrown, words that we'd soon regret being spoken and time being lost.

"Lexie, would you clean that up?" my mother asked, bringing me back to reality. I nod, and I mindlessly begin to pick up the pieces of the glass my mother accidentally broke while I am utterly consumed by the reminder that just one year ago, I was doing the same thing. The only difference is that then the plates were thrown out of anger as I wished to God my mother would fall off the face of the planet, while now, I am begging God to give her just one more day.

We had the classic mother-daughter relationship. We'd fight and argue till the ends of the earth yet double over in the laughter at our funniest family memories. She'd scold me when I brought home the high school drop out covered in tattoos as I begged her to give him a chance. She'd write out a list of chores for me to do as I tried to weasel out of them with every excuse in the book. We'd gossip and laugh at our crazy neighbors as we watched the Glassfords next-door do yoga on their lawn at the crack of dawn. We were so normal. We were so average. What could possibly go wrong?

As I pull a chair next to my mother's hospital bed and squeeze her hand, I am suddenly aware of everything around me. I begin to count the number of wires and IV chords snaking into my mother like a maze. I lose count as a bitter laugh escapes me at the thought that my AP Calculus brain couldn't even help me with this one simple task. She sees me staring and immediately tries to avert my attention.

"You came early today Lex, did you get a chance to eat breakfast?" she asks, deeply concerned.

I stare at her for a moment longer, her beautiful hazel eyes locking with mine. It takes everything in me not to point out the irony of her question- her stomach cancer has made it impossible for her to eat anything for nearly three weeks straight, yet she's worried about me skipping one meal. This is just like last week when she squeezed my stomach and scolded me for losing too much weight when she had easily dropped 20 pounds in the last month.

But instead, I decide to make her happy and respond with a simple "yup" as I begin to ramble on about a fake list of healthy foods I had eaten that morning. A slow smile spreads across her face in the midst of the pain, and that's when I realize that even her smiles have not been for her sake, but for mine alone.

Later that day, my dad takes my brother and I out of the hospital room as he explains that tomorrow, our mom will be coming home. Drake and I exchange looks in disbelief that our luck has finally turned. But when I turn to look back at my father, the pain on his face makes my heart drop. Drake and I had completely misinterpreted the implications of my father's statement. Our mom wasn't coming home because she was better. She was coming home because there was nothing left for the doctors to do.

"Drake!" my dad shouted the next day when my mother came home, "come and help me bring this in." As Drake struggles to carry the box of my mother's precious oxygen tanks into the house, my father and I help bring my mother in on the hospital bed without jerking or banging the corners on the walls.

After a long day, we had finally settled my mother in the living room with a bed provided by the hospital. I stare at the endless number of things necessary for my mother to simply go about her day as I realize how many things I take for granted just by being healthy. I choke back my tears as I watch my mother struggle to simply breathe while I mindlessly inhale and exhale without a second thought. It takes the strength and gentleness of my father, brother and I to get my mother out of bed to walk to the bathroom that's ten feet away while I take for the granted the freedom mobility has provided me with. After every meal, my mother vomits 99% of what she ate while the rest of us have stomachs healthy enough to feast during every meal.

That's when I realize how many things there are in life that we simply "expect." We think we deserve. We think we have the right to have. And after a while, you can't even imagine a life where walking, talking, eating or even breathing didn't come naturally. Only when you lose it do you realize how precious it was before. I guess it's the same way with people. I didn't really realize that losing my mother was a possibility, until it happened.

I stare down at my shaking hands as I clench and unclench again and again. Sitting in my church worship hall, with hundreds of friends and family members around me as we talk about my dead mother, this is all I know to do.

Clench and unclench.

When the pastor begins talking, I immediately zone out. His empty words have no consoling power.

"Clench and unclench," I think as I continue to dig my nails into the palms of my hands to feel something. Anything. Even if it's pain.

Eventually, the rambling pastor stops as he welcomes my brother to give the eulogy. For the first time since I've walked into the church, I stop staring at my hands as I lift my head up to catch Drake's gaze. I watch as my six foot tall brother fumbles with the mic as he also chokes back the tears.

"Good evening everyone," he starts, his voice still shaky. "Today, we're all here, to honor the life of my mother. And for me to fully convey my mother's love, I'm going to have to start off with a story." Drake takes a deep breath and begins.

"About two years ago, in the middle of basketball tryouts, I became short of breath and was immediately rushed to the hospital. Later that day, I found out that my lung had collapsed due to a very rare disorder. I was hospitalized for about a month after a few invasive surgeries. I can still remember that month because at the time, I thought nothing could get worse than that. I can remember how rude and bitter I was towards my parents because I couldn't believe that I was spending my senior year stuck in a hospital. During that month, all I thought about was myself. All I cared about was how much pain I was in. And the only reason I wanted to get better, was for myself. Not my family or anyone else. My mother is the complete opposite. When she first got sick, I can still remember her hugging me as she promised to get better to make it to my college graduation. The only motivation she had for getting better was for the sake of her family and so she could see Lex and I grow up, get married and have children. My mother's disease was infinitely worse than mine, yet she managed to reveal her selflessness and love even in the midst of this tragedy. This story goes to show the one characteristic of my mother that no one else can quite emulate- her love. So mom, we love you, we'll miss you, and we can't wait to see you again," Drake concluded as an applause erupted in the worship hall.

The first tear since my mother's death slid down my cheek as I angrily wiped it away. But then the second one came, and the third, and the fourth, and that's when the sobs racked my body as I finally allowed myself to feel the pain- every last ounce of pain.

It's been months now, and thankfully, her legacy has not been forgotten. When most people think of legacy, they are reminded of Michael Jackson's unforgettable moon walk or Steve Jobs' incomprehensible wealth. The society we live in loves to tie importance to fleeting worldly pleasures like success, wealth or fame. My mother wasn't exceptional in any of these things, but she left behind a timeless legacy that is more unforgettable and even more incomprehensible- love. Through unspoken words and humble actions, she embodied what it meant to love unconditionally, even in the midst of tragedy. This is her legacy. This is how we will remember her. This is what I look to share with others for the remainder of my days.