She was the most courageous person I’ve ever known.

Even when she’d win on battle with cancer only to have to fight another, my mother never once seemed afraid, never once let gloom overtake her sunny disposition, never once allowed the disease to change her outlook on life or her love for it.

And, quite amazingly considering what she faced every day, she never once questioned why the disease had to be hers to fight. She just fought it, kept her faith and went on about the business of living as best she could every single day.

I was with her when she drew her last breath. It was my gift to her — and in many ways her gift to me.

It seemed only fitting, really, since she was with me 62 years ago when I took my first timid breath, cementing a bond that, though tattered and bruised through the years of testing my wings and trying to be independent, was never stronger than it was in those last few moments as I held her hand, looked deep into her eyes and watched her slip from this world to a pain-free place on heaven’s shores.

In those fleeting seconds before she took her last breath, there was so much I wanted to say — how much I admired her courage, respected the way she had so tenderly and unselfishly loved two grandchildren, fighting for her own life just to make theirs better, cherished the way she loved my daddy and allowed him to love her through 41 years of marriage.

I wanted to tell her thank you for the way she had raised me and Michael, teaching us to appreciate life, to understand hard work, to cherish friendship and to always give back some of that which we had been given.

I wanted to tell her how I loved her smile, the one that so easily came to her lips, a reassuring smile, one that said everything would be OK even when she knew, deep down, that it really wouldn’t.

I wanted to tell her how much I had admired the lasting friendships she had cultivated, the humor that brought sunshine to so many people in the course of a day, the joy she brought to her family and the hope she inspired in all who came in contact with her, even if only for a few brief moments.

She was strong and determined, faithful and selfless. A mother to the very end.

I wanted to tell her how brave I thought she was and how strong she had remained, despite the adversity of a cancer so vicious that every time she thought she’d whipped the disease, it would come raging back. I wanted her to know how I hoped and prayed that her strength and character were somehow instilled deep within me.

But as labored breathing became calm and her furrowed brow softened as peace overcame pain, all I could say was “I love you mama” and “everything will be OK.”

She couldn’t respond but somehow I knew she had heard.

Those were my final words to my mom, a Mother’s Day gift two weeks early. The last one I would ever give her.

Now, 22 years later, I still remember those last few, special moments. They are tinged with sadness but also with great memories of where I came from and who I am.

My cousin, fighting her own brave battle, reminded me of this column and urged me to run it again.

It is now my Mother’s Day gift to her.