Mom,

As I've already told you by now, happy birthday. I'm glad I got to spend the week leading up to it back home with you and Dad for spring break.

I could write pages and pages about what you've done for me. It would take endless articles to chronicle the ways in which you've impacted me and the man I've become, so this will only serve as a basic overview. Here's a statement to the world about how wonderful you are.

When I meet new people and they ask about my family, as they often do, I have a tailor-made story (that you already know) that explains your defining characteristic.

I tell them about the first real date I ever went on, in between my eighth and ninth grade year. You dropped me off at the park to meet my girlfriend at the time. You didn't stay long; you probably talked to her for about a minute or two. Then you left us to hang out while you were off somewhere else in the park. When you left, the first five minutes (no exaggeration) were just my girlfriend telling me how nice you were.

While I might have chosen a different way to begin my first date than hearing a soliloquy about your character, I can't deny that you were and still are one of the kindest people out there. You have one of the biggest hearts of anyone I know, and the level of kindness you show is something that I try to emulate.

It's the reason, I figure, why I'm following your footsteps into a helping profession. You were always so helpful for me, and as a counselor, I know you're helpful for others. For as long as I can remember, I've felt that same love.

Your compassion came in handy for me many times, as I could be a pretty sensitive kid. More stern parents might have, for example, told my fifth-grade self to stop crying while I was waiting for the bus and to just get used to middle school (fair point though - middle school can be a scary place for a kid). You and Dad, however, opted to come throw a baseball with me at the bus stop so that I would be distracted and have a good start to my day.

When I've had my heart broken or broken it myself with mistakes, you've been right there to validate and listen. You weren't always telling me what I want to hear, but you were being present.

I couldn't have had the successes I've had if not for you, either. Consider football, for example. I never would have been an all-state athlete or had the chance to play in college if you wouldn't have cooked me copious amounts of (mostly healthy) food in high school. You helped me go from a lanky 185-pound freshman to a bulky 250-pound senior lineman. Your excellent cooking made gaining that weight a lot easier; I didn't have to trust school lunches to do the trick. Your desserts also helped, of course.

You've shown me a tremendous amount of fight and courage as you've fought against cancer, ever since I was in high school. It never quite struck me as real, in part because even though you are soft-spoken, you present yourself with an incredible strength. My friends, when they find out that you have cancer, are always shocked – they comment that they would never have guessed. I know it's not easy for you; I know that it's probably on your mind a lot. But you (just like other survivors) have fought and battled with a quiet strength that I admire and that I'm not sure I could ever match.

You taught me so much more. You taught me to love the outdoors, what it's like to live on a farm, how to (temporarily) like country music, and to stand up for what is right.

You are a smart, strong, powerful, loving, sweet, beautiful woman, and I am eternally grateful to God that He made me your son.

I love you, Mom.

Your son,

Wilson