College has taught me that I am capable of being far more independent than I ever thought possible. I have been able to go weeks without calling you, I’ve made big decisions on my own and I’ve gotten through stressful times without needing you to remind me that it will be OK. I finally feel comfortable being on my own.
The other day, I decided to call you—just to catch up, but your phone went straight to voice mail. I called you a few hours later, and you didn’t answer. I dialed the house phone, but you didn’t pick up that either. And suddenly, I got this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. Just when I thought that I could handle everything on my own, I realized how much I need you. I needed to talk to you, and I couldn't. I didn’t have a practical cooking question or a “What outfit should I wear for this event?” concern—I just needed to hear your voice. I needed that sense of comfort that only a mom can give.
I’ve heard a lot of people refer to their mom as their “best friend.” Until this moment, I would have agreed with that. A best friend is someone who knows how to cheer you up, a shoulder to cry on and a source of endless laughter. You can tell your best friend anything without fear of judgement. You are all of that, but you are so much more. Calling you a “best friend” would be inadequate.
People have multiple best friends, and even the best of friends may come and go. You, on the other hand, have been a constant figure in my life. Your love never wavered, and your presence never faded. You're irreplaceable. You loved me before I was born. You loved me through the sleepless nights and the terrible twos. You supported me through the middle school awkwardness and high school drama. You’ve seen me at my absolute lowest low and my highest high. You know me better than I know myself.
Being a mom is a thankless job—not because I don’t want to thank you, but because there simply is no way to thank someone for giving up so much of herself for the sake of another person. Thank you for all of the “big” things you did for me—working at night so that you could stay home with us, taking care of me when I was sick, supporting my involvement in sports and activities, helping me with school work, disciplining me when necessary and teaching me good morals.
However, if someone said to me, “Tell me about your mom?” I wouldn’t tell them about how you drove me around from piano to soccer or proof-read my essays. I would tell them that…
You used to read "Little House on the Prairie" with me in bed every night.
You used to write notes on my napkins in my lunch box.
You played scrabble with me when I was “sick.”
You used to turn off the light and put away my textbooks when I fell asleep doing work.
You would rub my back to make me feel better.
You played the "Charlie Brown” song on the piano for me to dance to.
You would split a Peppermint Pattie with me, until we realized that we should have just gotten our own in the first place.
Thank you for all of the “little” things because that’s what I will always remember. Thank you for making me the person that I am today.
As I grew up, people would ask me “what do you want to be?” Over the years, I’ve said…florist, teacher, FBI agent, lawyer and doctor. Right now, I’m not sure what career I want. However, I realize now that a specific career is not an appropriate answer to the question. A career is something that you do—it’s not who you are. Throughout my life, no matter what career I was interested in, the only thing I ever wanted to be was you.
You’re not just my best friend. You’re my therapist, my teacher, my role model, my rock. You’re my mom, and I'm so lucky to be your daughter.
