"An open letter to the Mother I always wanted."
I want to thank you for everything but I do not know where to start. You are my favorite person, the one I call home and the one I hope to be like. The one I learned how to stand tall from and the woman who showed me how to be love, especially when I receive the most opposing views or treatment from others.
I want to thank you for the bed time stories, you know -- that same book you read to me every single night and yet the words on each page were always said differently just to make the art hold meaning in different ways. I knew the words mom, but your stories were better.
Thank you for all those bandaids with magical, no-hurt cream that went on like air but felt like love all those times I scraped my knees while desperately trying to learn how to ride my bike. You cheered me on for days, even though I was on training wheels and still fell.
I get a big smile on my face every time I count the patches on my Jean jacket. You fixed and stitched and made it unique. I thought then you were a fashion designer, since you could thrift anything into a designer piece fit for a princess.
I loved the forts we built together out of sheets and dining room chairs. And the tea parties we had with fancy treats, though I now know hostess and yoohoo were the real masters.
You never once yawned or told me you were tired, even after work, just to spend time with me and comb my hair; listen to my stories that evolved over time. From fairytales to friendships, to cute boys down the block and a cute girl in my class. Mom, you never judged me. You said love was love. And I knew it was true, because you taught me first how unconditional love is.
I loved every single birthday party, even the ones not anywhere near my actual birthday. I remember turning 7 three times in one year. And all the streamers and decorations were handmade each time. Price tags never mattered. If your hands did not make them, then it wouldn't be the same party.
I learned all my favorite recipes from you and I am ever amazed at how you can turn anything in the cabinets into a delicious meal. Although you were a master at hosting holidays, my favorite days were Sunday mornings. Your French toast and berries beat any one elses' best try.
Mom, I was never scared of any growth period in my life because you were not just there --- you prepared me for them. You ALWAYS explained everything we did and everything we experienced. And I am so grateful for it. I do not know how you had so much patience and knowledge.
When my first period came, we were ready and you even celebrated my leveling up party with a care package of every single period pad shape and style ever made, some chocolates, magazines and a hot pink bowl with a matching spoon. You explained that comfort food was a girls best way to survive the ordeal, and boy were you right.
You were also not always right, or so you told me all the time. You were a mom who said sorry, said please and said thank you. You taught me manners because you used them with me. And so I only knew to use them on others. Every time I ever say sorry to someone, I feel humble and really truly sorry for my mistakes. I own them. I am so glad you always did, even when it made you tear.
You are so strong.
A hug feels like home, but your smile could warm me better than any embrace. Every time you laugh, every time you tell me jokes with your silly and wild humor, I am reminded where my own humor comes. I think I am more vulgar but you are ok with that. You taught me to be outspoken and truthful, as long as I knew my audience.
Nothing could have made me more thankful for you than the day I graduated high school and you were there cheering me on like I was being awarded the Nobel peace prize. Mom. It was h.s. and though I got A's and some B's, you were the loudest cheerleader with the biggest grin. It was a victory for both of us though and you deserved an award for all the effort you put in.
You pushed me to join clubs, to socialize and to help people. You helped me study with flashcards and hung every single freakin' piece artwork I brought home. Sometimes we ran out of room on the wall, so you would retire a piece from the middle of the year.
You always said "let's keep up the first ones and the current ones, so YOU can see the beautiful way you evolve."
I felt home sick for the first time when I left for college and wanted to come home after the second night in my dorm. So you called me and stayed on the phone with me for over 2 hours, making me laugh, cry and sing out of tune to the pandora list I had playing in my room.
I had no idea you were parked outside, just incase I needed you after all. And I didn't, but you brought me breakfast and coffee the next morning anyways.
When I finally found my person, you said you knew it too. You could see a spark in my eyes and it made you cry, out of happiness and acceptance. You had been my shoulder to cry on through other hard breakups and crushes that didn't last, to the one who held me during our mother and bride dance.
Only now, as I am becoming a mother do I see full circle just how amazing of a mom you are.
How all the lessons and all the memories made me strong, proud and brave.
You will never get this letter. Because it would not be possible. But I needed to say all of these things, I needed to get them off my chest...
I appreciate who I am and the woman I have become. I am so proud of all I have accomplished. And I wish I could make one wish come true, but I am ok with the truth of it because I love myself.
To the mother I never had, the one I will never meet or get to embrace, to the one who will never throw my birthdays or see my child's face.
To the mom I always wanted, and the little girl I once was. It would be impossible to tell either of you now, but I am okay after all.
And I thought at least, if just once, I could say thank you...because without either of you I would not have such a deep desire to be the amazing mother I will now become.
Jaded savior, www.jadedsavior.com
Published by Jean Soto JS Jaded Savior blog: email@example.com
Jean Soto, mother of 3 and wife, is a writer + artist in the Hudson Valley, NY community.
Content mention of Rape, Abuse, Neglect, Addictions, Mental Illness, Kidnap, Molestation, Child abuse, Teen Pregnancy, Abortion, birth, body image, gender/identity dysphoria, sexuality, personal trauma, domestic violence and other extremely personal stories. Please practice caution. I am not a licensed physician or mental health professional. No medical prescribing is provided on this site, Only personal insights, experience stories, and advice; All stories published have had prior authorization. Questions? Contact Jean at: firstname.lastname@example.org
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