My Mother is Everything To Me

As a small child, she is the first woman I admired. I'd sit and watch her put on mascara, or bind her long, dark hair up in a ponytail, wondering if I'd ever be that beautiful. She was a constant and steady fixture of my childhood; I cried the first time she changed her hairstyle. She was bigger than life back then, and still is, a living bar set high in my life.

She is timeless, fiery and willful, deeply compassionate. We are different. We are the same, connected in mind and spirit by invisible threads. All the years of my childhood she soaked me in love, and strengthened my spirit.

She has vision and creativity, an eye for color and design. She walks the walk, and as a teenager I sat up and listened, because her virtue is something tangible. She taught me how to be mysterious.

She is funny, in an accidental sort of way, which makes her very intriguing. She is interested in who I am, and she tries to understand me.

She is brave, and shows me her humanity. She reaches out to me in friendship, and makes our relationship a priority.

She is my mother, and I am so thankful.

(I love you Mom. Happy Birthday.)