First of all, thank you. I know I do not say that enough, but thank you for everything, Mom. You have done so much for me. You’ve sacrificed countless hours of your time to come to my Girl Scout meetings, watching my Christmas concerts, helping me with homework, driving me around, listening to me cry and yell and vent and talk until I fell asleep. The truth is, I didn’t deserve it. For all the times I lied, talked back, didn’t do what you asked, and ignored your countless phone calls, you were still there. You still loved me unconditionally. You still were always there for me. You were on my side, even when I was wrong, and I cannot put into words how much I love you.

Mom, you played a million roles, and you did it with such grace and dignity. You were both mom and dad for me and my little sister. You were the provider, the caregiver, the disciplinarian, the chef, the cleaning crew, the handyman, the advice giver, the listener, the talker, the driver, the friend, the enemy, and so much more. Even more amazing, you did it all seamlessly. You slipped into whatever role I needed, and I am in awe of how perfectly you did it.

Mom, I hate to admit this, but you’re always right. The time you told me not to procrastinate on my project, and stayed up with me while I stressed through the night before it was due because I did, indeed, procrastinate. The time you held me after I came home from school, crying because I wasn’t invited to the popular kid’s birthday party, and told me that what goes around comes around and one day that silly party won’t matter. The time you told me that boy wasn’t right for me, I see now how you saw the awful way he treated me before I did. I am sure it hurt you, to watch your little girl put up with it, but still, while guiding me, you let me also make my own mistakes. You understood that some lessons had to be made the hard way. The time that I called you sobbing from my dorm room freshman year, having a panic attack because I didn’t know what to do with my life, and you calmly told me that you believed in me. You told me you had faith that I would do just fine in life, and that I still had time to decide.

You were also there for all the times I had to call you for stupid life questions, like how do I know when the noodles are cooked all the way through or what does it mean with the weird raindrop looking light goes on in my car. You were there when I needed to make doctor’s appointments, but wasn’t “adult” enough to call the people myself. (You even called for me when I was “adult” enough.)

Then there were the big life moments. Mom, I hope to be just as amazing as you were with my own kids someday. When I came up to you on a Saturday afternoon, telling you that “I’d become a woman and I didn’t want to be one.” You calmed me down, told me it was going to be alright, and drove to the store to buy my first box of feminine supplies as well as a giant tub of chocolate ice-cream. The way you sat, without judgement, while I broke down, telling you I’d done something stupid with a boy who didn’t love me. I remember thinking how angry I’d thought you’d be, and even worse, how disappointed, but you weren’t. You saw my pain, my heartbreak, and instead of yelling, you handed me a tissue and told me to stand up. You brought me to a mirror and told me that I was beautiful, and that this mistake did not define who I was as a person. When you told me that you’re glad I was able to come to you, and that no matter what I did, I’d always be your little girl, I cried. Not because of how sad I was about the boy, but because I realized that God blessed me with the best mom in the world.

So thank you, Mom. Thank you times infinity. I wish I could give you the universe, and even then, it wouldn’t be enough to make up for all the things you’ve done for me, all the sacrifices you made to raise me and my little sister. You are truly an inspiration to all parents. Mom, you will always be my number one person, my role model, and my rock. I love you, Mom. I love you more than words can describe. When I grow up, I want to be Just. Like. You.