"I think I'm just sad sometimes that I think, 'Who will love me the way that she did?"
And there you have it. The horribly beautiful truth about a mother and her children.
My mother is beautiful. And I don't mean beautiful as in the "she's a really sweet lady and that makes her beautiful" way (although she is indeed that also), but I mean physically beautiful. For as long as I can remember people would tell me how pretty she is. How young she looks. How thin she is.
And I think that's hard to hear, sometimes. When you're twelve and awkward and your mother is beautiful. When you're fat and pregnant and and the grandma-to-be is still young and hot. I think maybe I resented it sometimes. Maybe it made me a little snippy. A little cold. A little jealous.
But I am a mother now and I look at my own mom in a way that I couldn't before. When I first saw Charlie, all pink and tiny, I could picture my mom holding me, the same feeling inside.
And when I drive, it's more carefully, even when Charlie isn't in the car with me, because I realize, no one could love him like I love him. He needs that kind of love. The kind of love that my own mom has given me, relentlessly, for all of my life.
I'm horrible with words. I could never tell my mom all the things I need her to know because I get choked up. I forget parts. It ends in hugging and laughing. But it needs to be said:
Thank you for loving me more than anyone has loved me. Thank you for sleeping next to me when I was an adult and lonely and didn't want to be alone. Thank you for forgiving me when I was less than grateful for all the sacrifices you made for me. Thank you for the lunches and coffees we enjoy together weekly. Thank you for watching my son every week and for loving him the way you loved me. Thank you for your friendship.
