We all have a mother. Sometimes it is the lady that gave birth to you and reared you, sometimes the lady just reared you, and sometimes your mother is actually your best friend, regardless of gender. I must say that I definitely have a lady who gave birth to me and reared me.

I have made mention of my late step-father in an article, and other members of my family. However, this is an article dedicated to my mother. I believe she deserves something for putting up with me for almost 19 years now. I know I've confused her to no end and inspired rage and happiness, among countless other things. I, along with my brother, have made enough mischief to wear her out over the span of nearly two decades, but she is still standing. Actually, she's probably sitting down and working right now so never mind.

Anyway, mom, this one is for you.

My mother, whose name will not be mentioned, gave birth to me on a cold night in December in the year of 1997. She had just turned 21 two days before and I think she really didn't know what to do with me. According to her, after she was allowed to hold me, I made a face and could have said "Put me back! I was comfortable in there!" From then on, I think you could say that definitely stood by that first expression of defiance.

In the years that followed, while wearing those dresses my grandmother had shoved me in, she was totally fine with me not wearing them. There was just an overwhelming opinion for me to wear the stupid thing. She was the first person who put makeup on me and she showed me how to change a tire on our minivan when I was eight years old. She understood that, yes, I did want to play games on her computer at seven in the morning, but it would mean that I would leave her alone for another hour or two to sleep. She stood by me in February of 2016 during the legislative work in South Dakota. She didn't really ask questions when I came out as transgender and, a while later, gay. She just accepted it. She accepts everyone, with the exception of stupid people, but that's another story. My mother has never seen skin tone, socioeconomic status, sexuality or gender identity as a reason to discriminate against someone. To her, people are just people and to quote her, "All humans look alike."

Now, during all this time, all these years of us being together, we laughed, I'd cry and she'd be confused, we furrowed our brows, she brooded while I fumed, we never said "I love you." It was just something that never came up in conversation. My mom and I don't hug each other and just spend time together for the sake of spending time together.

I know that sounds terrible, but hear me out.

My mother never needed to say "I love you." She never needed to give me a hug or just take me out to dinner. I know the sacrifices she has made to keep me here, in this world, close to her and my brother. She reminds me of them constantly. I never truly realized the value of those sacrifices until I got to college. I can't just walk downstairs and ask her to take of something for me real quick. Half the time, she's too busy to talk when I call and she's always doing something when I text her. And I don't mind. I don't mind one bit. My mother is doing the same thing for my brother at home. She's taking care of him, reminding him of the sacrifices she has made, and going back downstairs to keep working.

I know this will make my mom confused when she reads this, but when she said "Okay" after I told her I was trans, that was how she said "I love you. I love you, Thomas." And, yes, after I move out, we might meet in a grocery store and be confused when I call her "mom" because her son is just a human, like all the rest.

Thanks, mom.