You are my mother.
Even when I didn’t want to be (s)mothered. You were still there.
I’m starting to understand that instinct you have. That parental instinct. I didn’t know best back then, and maybe you didn’t either, but you knew better than me. Just like I know better now, but they don’t think so.
You always loved me, even when I didn’t love myself all that much, and I’m glad you did. You gave more to me than physically possible, and I didn’t deserve half of it, yet you still gave, and continue to give.
You are selfless, caring, and hardworking. These are things that I have tried to emulate, but will never perfect them, as you have.
Even after all of those weekends, where you couldn’t find me, and didn’t know if I was alive or dead. Where you sat up waiting for me to come home, and I didn’t, because I thought that drinking until I passed out at 6 AM was more important than your emotional health.
If I could take that all back, I would. I would have been home by midnight and up at 7, so I could help Paul with the grass and garden. Maybe I could have hit a couple of yard sales with you guys as well, but I’ll never know, because I frittered away those valuable moments. That time is gone now, and no matter how much wishing I do, I’ll never get it back. I guess the only thing to do, is to try and make the most of the present and future.
I love you, Mom. I always have, and I always will. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and you don’t even realize it. You are also the only person in the world that could have polished this turd into what I am today, and I am forever grateful to you for that.
P.S. There was also this old post, that I wanted to save for Mother’s Day, but as you can tell, I didn’t.