For My Mother

You’ve sat front seat most of my life. Although the performances are over and the curtains have closed you continue to watch the show. See what I’ve done with this thing you’ve given me? I grew from your weak and your strong. And it was important that I saw both. Even when you lied and tried to hide the pain, I heard you cry. And from the other side of the door, I held you. And I lifted you. And I appreciated you. More than you know I trusted and respected you. But as we grow we change. Time has a way of distorting reality. Shaping us in unexpected ways. This seed that grew of you, from you, was not what you envisioned. Yet everything a desiring heart could imagine and more. I make choices you often don’t understand. But they are my choices and mine alone and not indicative of a job poorly done, but a job complete. You need not worry yourself with the life I've claimed or the distance it places between us. I hold no judgments, not because I forgive and forget, but because there are none to hold. No, you weren't perfect, but how would I benefit if you were? And we don't see eye to eye sometimes. But that’s due in part to the woman you raised me to be. A person who thinks freely and speaks wisely. Who leads and follows and knows when and where to put up a fight and when to tuck my hands deep into my pockets and walk away. And I ignore your calls and don't respond to emails and text. But that’s because I often struggle to find the words to say. So I hold my tongue and say nothing at all. You built a world where I could be exactly as I am. That world shielded us. Not from everything but enough. And it gave us structure and dirt we’d spend years... hell decades growing from. And I often am saddened that you gave up You so we could be. And that time has stolen a piece of your joy. And I wish I could bring you solace in your golden years. And be the tissue that wipes away your broken and bruised. I wish I had more to offer to numb the hurt caused by many years of turbulence and pain and loss that have been left at your feet. You sit alone and cry for us. The same way you did when we were young. And still leave yourself behind. I have no words that will ease your pain. No shelter to offer you. But if you remember nothing of me, just remember me saying you were enough. You were enough then. You’re enough today and you’ll be enough tomorrow. You owe no more than you’ve already given and even then you’ve barely kept anything for yourself. And you’re still the cheerleader I long ago knew and the doctor who soothed my hurt feelings and physical wounds. You are my tomato soup on a cold day with a side of grilled cheese and pint of mint tea. And I remember my very first flight as I bounced there on your knee. Convinced that I could be anything and go anywhere. You raised me purposefully to be unique. I stand tall on pillars you helped me build. And there is no man or woman alive who can take your place. Who will ever mean as much to me as you do. And although I know I hurt you sometimes, it’s never my intent to break you down. You made the impossible possible. Pointed and then allowed me to go. And there will never be another like you. I’m not even sure God still makes moms like you. I built a world atop a foundation laid by you. I am who I am because of you. And contrary to what you may think or feel I’m obsessed with you. Blessed to have had and to still have you. And I am so grateful for you. I could speak a thousand words and still fall short of an appropriate thank you. And should eyes one day look up at me with an innocence we no longer know, I pray for the strength to become just half the warrior you’ve proven yourself to be.