Cheryl Strayed may be the first and only female author to make me shamelessly cry on public trans. If you were riding the train last night in the Chicago Loop, and noticed a woman wiping snot away from her tear stained face, that was me. I'm not going to apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable either.

When I spotted "Wild" on a shelf in Powell's Bookstore, the subtitle "From lost to found on the Pacific Crest Trail" is what originally caught my attention. I thought to myself, this is for me. I'm lost too.

As it turned out, "Wild" is not a guide to fixing yourself. It's about reflection and acceptance first. Cheryl Strayed writes vividly about loosing her mother to cancer at twenty-two. In reliving Cheryl's tragedy and healing process, it made me reflect about my own mother and our relationship. Even a single thought of loosing her, could send me buckling over with emotion. No matter how old I am, I will always need her, and she will always be a part of me.

Cheryl wrote:

"One of the worst things about loosing my mother at the age I did was how very much there was to regret. Small things that stung now: all the times I'd scorned her kindness by rolling my eyes or physically recoiled in response to her touch; the time I'd said, "Aren't you amazed to see how much more sophisticated I am at twenty-one than you were?" The thought of my youthful lack of humility made me nauseous now."

This hit home for me, as it does with most girls who released their teenage angst on the person who loved them the most. What this reminded me was that I still have time to make amends for all the small, but awful things I've done to my mother in the past. It's the little things that matter so much in the end.

I don't want to regret anything. Here are my apologies.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for the time I screamed at you while shopping in Carter's for baby clothes, because I didn't like the photo you had of me on your phone.

I'm sorry for all the moments I acted embarrassed of you in public.

I'm sorry for making fun of your haircut.

I'm sorry for complaining when you brag about me on Facebook.

I'm sorry for that time I stormed away from you while we were visiting Grandma.

I'm sorry for getting pissed off when I ask you if those jeans made my butt look weird, and you gave me an honest answer.

I'm sorry for all the doors I slammed.

I'm sorry for acting grossed out when you try cuddling with me on the couch.

I'm sorry that I never want to give you a foot massage, and I never will.

I'm sorry that I throw my crap all over the place every time I'm home.

I'm sorry for the time I drove off to Target without you, because it was taking too long to deicide who was going to drive.

I'm sorry for cursing at you when you fart, but it is pretty awful.

I'm sorry for lying about spending time with boys.

I'm sorry about telling you how bored I am every time I come home for more than a week.

I'm sorry for being embarrassed of where I lived growing up.

I'm sorry for fake gagging when I see you kiss dad.

I'm sorry for complaining about the clothes you worked so hard to buy for me.

I'm sorry for making fun of you when you mispronounce words.

I'm sorry for ignoring you when you ask about my student loans.

I'm sorry for telling you that I hated you in high school.

I'm sorry for getting frustrated when you ask me how to work your iPhone or the laptop.

I'm sorry for destroying my old bedroom walls with paint and posters.

I'm sorry for leaving you a pet rabbit to take care of when I went to college.

I'm sorry for ever making you feel like you weren't the absolute best mother I could ever imagine.

Because you are.