After a tumultuous year, I (and my mother) get to spend few solitary and peaceful moments together. It’s not that we don’t want to but our personalities clash so heavily and we aren’t very good talkers, always keeping quiet unless our honest truths come out.
Which in our conversations, happens a lot.
Yesterday, she and I walked alone for a while, got along and suddenly I realize, this is the mother I love and adore, who loves and adores me. I’ve missed so many moments of my life being torn up by her and she by me.
Throughout the human life, especially in adolescence, it’s healthy to rebel, and rebel I did. I also knew it would hurt her but at the same time, in order to preserve my sanity I did.
“Mem, how many days left?”
“I’m going to hold onto each of those 86 days and miss you terribly when you’re gone.”
“Regardless of all the fighting?”
“You’re still my baby girl. And you bright this light into this household.”
I didn’t cry then. But I cry recalling these words to anonymously show the world how much I love my mother, and my mother loves me.
Mom, in 86 days I won’t be a child anymore. I’ll be growing up. I’ll always be your youngest and you’ll always be the mother who lay in bed for three months straight after four miscarriages trying to keep me alive in those pivotal few months and watched over helplessly as doctors kept me in an ICU for a week because they thought I was defective because I was born to older parents. You watched me grow in three different continents, always struggling to make the right friends and choices, in the end you are the reason why I made it so far without too many problems.
Closing this horribly sentimental blog post, last night I realized. No matter how hard I try, or seek. I’ll never understand a mothers love and strength until I am a mother myself.