Dear Readers,

Do you remember when you were little and all you had to do for a birthday was grab a box of crayons and create the most heart-felt gift for your parents? Somehow they basked in the glory and satisfaction of holding something so cheap and mangled despite the fact that it didn’t come with a price tag or ribbon. They loved it not because of the backwards “R” or misspelled “happy” but rather because it came from the purest part of us — the part that we somehow lose over time with age and the inevitable fall from innocence. In one breath we’re running into their laps hoping they’ll never let go and the next were clawing at the door to get back to the sweet taste of college freedom. Unfortunately, the greatest irony we’ll ever face is the realization of just how important those lunchbox and Crayola days meant to both them and us.

Today is my mom’s birthday and it’s taken me nearly 21 years to realize that as much as she’ll love the physical gift I’ll eventually send her, all she’s ever wanted was for me to really mean the “I love you” I habitually mumble on the phone before bed or after an apology; coffee mugs and diamonds can never fill the void of true love and appreciation a mother wants from her son. So, Mom, this is an ode to you and all the mothers who’ve always wanted their thickheaded sons to comeback down from Neverland and appreciate them for all they do.

Thank you for loving me unconditionally, even when I proved to you countless times that teenage sons do give you more gray hairs and wrinkles than you’ll ever experience in a lifetime. Despite the warning of a color changing tongue or a nose that’ll grow exponentially, I’ve lied to you more than I’ve ever told the truth (and probably still will), but you’ve forgiven me every time without hesitation. You’re living proof that despite how crooked or horrible offspring are in the animal kingdom, not all mothers kill their young.

We’ve been through some rough patches as I’ve grown up — especially when I spent 800 dollars in a month and you screamed at me the infamous line: “Hey Daddy Warbucks you’re not rich so stop spending money like you are!” I’ve ignored your calls and casted the deadly, “I hate you” phrase countless times, but when I needed you the most, you were the first one to drive two hours to see me and make sure I was managing to keep my head above water.

You’ve given me many things in life, but the greatest of them I’ve never really thanked you for. Thank you for giving me the smile that has charmed even the biggest of foes, teaching me that kindness does have an effect on the world. Loving a friend is a simple task, but extending an olive branch to an enemy is a test of the human soul.

Thank you for giving me the edge and drive to follow my dreams and always pursue the opportunities that people dangle and yank in front my face. The truest of passions are the ones we fight through hell to find.

Thank you for giving me an open heart and showing me that we do things for people not for extrinsic motivations, but because we genuinely care about them and their desires. People never forget those who were there to ice their bruises and clean their wounds.

The dust covered versions of Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree and Robert Munsch’s Love You Forever that you once read to me now hold a much deeper meaning in my heart. Over these past 21 years you’ve kept your promise to always shed your leaves and give away your bark to make me happy — an eternal sacrifice of motherhood you made in 1995. Though I can no longer fit on your lap I promise to stay true to Munsch’s final lines and stay your baby forever.

Yesterday I came across a phrase I wrote in an old journal that said: “In his first nine months she carried him and the burdens of his life. In her last nine months, he carried her and the burdens of her death. Eternally they were bonded.” As each birthday passes for the both of us, I promise to love you and appreciate you more and more.

If you're lucky enough to have your mom around then pick up the phone and give her a call because, despite the nagging or fighting, she will always love you. And if she's not with you anymore, just know that all love, especially a mother's, never truly dies.

Happy Birthday Mom.