Dear Mom,
When I felt your hand today when you brushed my arm, I noticed it felt different. I had not remembered the feeling. Your skin was soft, you felt more gentle, more fragile even. When I told you you felt different, you responded "I'm getting older, baby." I looked into your eyes refusing to believe it. I am one of the people with the young mom, the kind of mom everyone always questioned if we are sisters. The mom who got asked if she was babysitting when she would take me to the playground. The invincible, beautiful, independent mom others were envious of. That is my mom, not someone who is "getting older."
Later, I watched you as you took your make-up off and snuggled up in your pjs. I payed closer attention to you. Attention I did not know I had deprived you of until today. Looking at the few wrinkles you had, I wondered why I did not notice them before. Why had I not seen you aging before? How could I have been so consumed with my own life, and not even consider the person who gave me this life. So, here are a few things in the midst of us both aging I never told you I was sorry for.
I'm sorry for all the times I was embarrassed that you wanted to talk to my friends' parents when you dropped me off to stay the night.
I am sorry for sometimes being too honest with you.
I am sorry for being stubborn and impossible when I thought I was right.
I am sorry I got annoyed every time you made me check in when I was out with friends.
Most importantly, I am sorry I did not notice that while I was getting older you were getting older, too.
Love,
Your daughter



















