By Dani Sherman-Lazar 
It started with a touch, skin-to-skin, and then we were connected for life.
The moment you held me your life would forever change—and mine would, too, for having you as my mom.
We ebbed and flowed together. Growing as people and evolving. You as a mother. Me as a daughter. Us consistently us.
I always wanted to be your shadow, not like how Peter Pan’s shadow detaches—I never wanted to separate from you. If you made me leave, I would have begged Wendy to sew me back onto you where I belonged like she did for Peter. I would never want to go to Neverland without you. I never wanted to go anywhere without you.
We ebbed and flowed together. Growing as people and evolving. You as a mother. Me as a daughter. Us consistently us.
We had our off times. I pushed you away. You trying to pull me back. Always fighting for me.
When I was in a dark spot, you lifted me up by cooking up a big pot of magical soup that fed my soul with the right dosages of love, laughter, and the support I needed to heal. You helped bring me back to life. You always do.
We ebbed and flowed together. Growing as people and evolving. You as a mother. Me as a daughter. Us consistently us.
Growing up is a process that slowly continues throughout life. Every day you are my guide.
When I get good news, I want to jump up and down and break it to you first. I know your happiness for me is not tainted and is pure and genuine just like your unconditional love.
When I get bad news you are the first person I call because you will comfort me in my sadness, letting me know that it will all get better and the stormy weather will pass.
We ebbed and flowed together. Growing as people and evolving. You as a mother-in-law. Me as a wife. Us consistently us.
You gave me away, as I saw tears well up in dad’s eyes, not yours—you aren’t emotional like Dad, but you had an ear-to-ear smile plastered on your face—so happy to see your daughter as a wife. So happy to see your daughter happy and in a good place.
I still wail with wet hot tears in my eyes, “I want my mom-eeee” for you if I have one too many glasses of wine—which isn’t often in the baby season of motherhood. “I want to go home,” is my next go-to phrase when I’m sick, garbage can at my side. You are my home and even my subconscious knows that.
We ebbed and flowed together. Growing as people and evolving. You as a grandma. Me as a mom. Us consistently us.
A nurse with straight red hair named Elle hovered to my left side. “Take a deep breath in and bear down,” she said in a loud voice. “Take another deep breath and put your chin to chest,” she continued, instructing me on how to push effectively. Her hands were gesturing in all directions as she talked. My feet were in the stirrups ready to start and the gynecologist was at the posterior of the bed. My sweet first baby girl was born.
I became a mom and you, the best grandma or “Mimi” my girls could ever ask for.
Then 18 months later the second one arrived.
You were so nervous the whole time I was in labor. Nervous for your daughter who was giving birth and for your new grandbaby having a healthy and safe arrival into this world.
Nervous because your love for us is that big.
We ebbed and flowed together. Growing as people and evolving. You as a grandma. Me as a mom. Us consistently us.
I hope my daughters and I will continue this best friend kinship we created.
With my own daughters, it, too, started with a touch—skin-to-skin. If they are anything like you and me, they will flow in the same direction as us: toward each other, ebbing and flowing through the waves of the sea that is life—together.
Originally published on the author’s page
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