I have the best mom.
I know everyone says that, but listen: She’s smart. She’s strong. When I was little she protected me from monsters, bad guys and whatever devient behavior I might have learned had I been allowed to watch MTV.
She always had snack waiting after school. She helped me believe in magic, fairies and Santa. After her accident three years ago — which should have killed her according to the neurosurgeon — she fought her way back from the brink of being dead for her kids.
She’s a fighter and she taught me to fight, but only against myself to get stronger, because she also taught me to be exceedingly kind to other people.
My mom and I have had epic fights. We’ve not seen eye to eye on the following things: boyfriends (mine and hers), driving in cars with teenage drivers, doing the dishes, keeping ones room clean, curfews, a reasonable number of hours to work in a day, the amount of exercise she gets, who should be invited to the house on certain holidays (or in one instance who should be allowed to come on family vacations — she had a terrible grifter friend for a few years who I loathed…), and whether it’s OK and/or normal to enjoy eating chicken bones.
The hardest conversations of my life have been with my mom. The meanest things I’ve said ever have been to my mom. The most magical, fun days I’ve had have been with my mom. My relationship with her is one of the most complicated and rewarding relationships I have.
She admires me. She truly loves me unconditionally — if there were conditions or limits to her love for me, I would have exceeded them long, long ago.
Don’t know what I’d do without you mom. Thanks for staying here with me.