A letter to my mom on Mother's Day

I remember you squinting in the sun at the camera. A hand over your eyes to block the light and your mouth half formed into words. It's how you are in most pictures, always something to say. Impatient for chubby fingers to press the button, for the shutter to open and close.

You called me your gypsy daughter. I don't know if that inspired me to explore hidden corners of the world, or if you just saw it in me. A little girl who climbed fences to visit elderly neighbors, who fearlessly bounded off to pre-school claiming home was boring, or who thought, at three, I could make it to the store and back after smelling doughnuts on the wind. I understood directions but still didn't understand the concept of money.

You fought for us - for our education, our place in the world, for people to notice us no matter what circumstances we came from. You told us to be whatever we wanted to be as long as we were happy. And reminded us that happiness came when we took care of ourselves - financially, physically and emotionally. Remember the same for yourself mom.

As the world is filled with light and dark, it wasn't always happy in our house and some days were dark but you did what you could to make our lives feel normal. Even the days you couldn't get out of bed, you turned it into a game. I never knew indoor picnics weren't an every household occurrence until I left home.

Sometimes (many times) we didn't agree. Teenagers are never easy and don't understand why parents push them to strive for any better. That 80% is good but to not forget the 20% that didn't make it into your brain.

I know that the day I told you I was moving out at 17 it was a shock to you. You told me I wouldn't make it because you didn't want me to leave. I know now that you just didn't know how to express that to me. I was terrified but I did it. I didn't want to lean on you but in the darkest times, you were that practical voice in my ear.

I don't know if I ever told you this but on those homesick days, I used to buy your shampoo so I could smell you around me. So I could feel like you were there even when I was miles away.

Today I've seen men, normally too cool or too busy to be fiddling with flowers, with bouquets in hands on their way to Mother's Day brunches. I imagine them as little boys eagerly awaiting this day with gifts of plaster of Paris hands or a newly sprouted bean in a cup bedazzled with colored macaroni. I'm sure they look pretty close to what I brought you too.

I can't be there to give you flowers and I won't be sitting by your side at dinner. But I wanted to let you know that I wouldn't be the person I am today without you. I credit you for my sense of responsibility, my boldness, my self sufficiency and my determination. As your picture demonstrates, I think you're a big contributor to my quirky sense of humor as well.


And to the other mothers in my life - the women who gave me room to grow, took care of me when I was down and opened their homes to me as if I was one of their own - I am eternally grateful for you being a part of shaping who I am. Though we mark this day as Mother's Day, I'm thinking of you always.