An open letter to my mom:
I’ve only written six words and already tears are starting to fall.
I’m not sure why as soon enough you’ll walk on through my front door carrying the most impressive pavlova imaginable (“Because it’s made with lurrve,” you’ll say), and we will celebrate each other, both so fortunate to have become a mother.
I have always loved you.
I didn’t know it was even possible, but now that I have my own children, I love you so much more.
Not only because of the endless support you provide. Not only because you’re there without question, at any time no matter the circumstance. Not only for your cooking or unwavering advice. But because you’re at an age now when life should be getting easier or at least slowing down somewhat. And without any words spoken aloud, you’re always there in the background, working tirelessly to ensure my life is just that.
We’ve been so lucky to have always shared an amazing bond throughout our journeys. It may not have felt it at the time, but even in my obnoxious teenage years, you were still my go-to, sharing almost everything with you.
You always seem to know what I need before I even know it myself.
You can tell how I’m feeling and exactly what I’m thinking from the briefest of glances.
I’m honored you were there for the birth of each grandchild. I know it couldn’t have been easy to watch your daughter in pain. To have absolutely no control in the situation and seemingly no power to make it better.
But know that you did. Your presence kept me calm.
Just knowing you were in the background watching, tending to my every need, my loudest advocate at the ready, kept me focused and gave me so much strength. Then knowing the perfect amount of time to stay before giving us space to bond as our new family was formed. Your intuition is next level.
You’ve forever shown and are still showing me the best example of how a mother should be.
Now that I’ve achieved my lifelong dream of becoming a mom, I realize the true worth of your guidance. It’s the greatest gift of all.
The truth is, I simply cannot picture my life without you in it. To not hear your voice on the other end of the phone will leave a void like no other. A day when you’re no longer around seems completely inconceivable, but as I start to experience minor age-related changes my mind flickers to you and what you must be feeling only multiplied. Then to my own children. I don’t want to imagine never being here for them.
It’s a truly scary thought. One I tend to shake my head at just like my daughter as she gently swirls her snow globe. If only it would have the same calmingly peaceful effect as falling glitter.
So when we sit here tonight, tummies bursting from our regular three-course meal of chips and dip, full roast dinner, and your specialty pav for dessert, I’ll be forever thankful that I’m one of the lucky ones.
I’ll roll my eyes and laugh at you when I hear the same saying over and over again, but you can be sure when it’s my turn to arrive at my daughter’s cradling a pav made from your recipe, it’ll be your words I’ll repeat with pride and “lurrve.”
Happy Mother’s Day!
Previously published on the author’s Facebook page