There are moments during our childhood when we sit back and question our progress. Am I good enough? Am I making my parents proud? Do they even love me? All those years of building ourselves into something socially functional (or not) can be quite surprising in the end. One day, we wake up, and what we see in the mirror can be pretty shocking. While I AM shocked, I definitely like what I see.
I have brief moments, mostly while driving alone, when I think of my mother. Sometimes I smile, sometimes I laugh out loud, and sometimes I cry. Mostly, I just think about how pleased she would be with her little girl. She spent all those years watching me grow up. She watched me get my heart broken. She saw me fail at many things. She did as much as she could to help me grow, but knew I would have to eventually experience things on my own. She wept for me, laughed with me, and loved me when I didn’t want to be loved. She was my angel.
This person, this woman, turned out to be a beautiful thing. With all the sadness, destruction and hate in this world, my mother and father managed to raise me right. I am respectful when respect is due. I am loving. I am grateful. I am strong. I know the difference between right and wrong. I delight in the joy of others. I do my best to keep my head on straight and my feet on the ground. I always try to be the bigger person when things go wrong. I make mistakes and learn from them. I try not to let my past dictate my future. I realize the world isn’t always a happy-go-lucky place, and have enough sense to understand the difference between real and fake. My heart is always in the right place, even if it’s too big sometimes. My mother taught me all of these things, even though I spent most of my life resisting her lessons.
And I am so proud to be the woman I am, made by the woman I called “mom”. You did one hell of a job, lady.