Dear Mom,
Since I was little, you've told me time and time again that you wished you could be as strong as me. The truth is, I learned from watching you. Whether it was raising me or my other siblings or all of us put together, there have been so many times that you've had to be both a mother and a father. Despite that, the word I will always associate you with is mom.
People apologize to me when they find out, Mom. They don't understand that it isn't something to be sorry about, and I don't think they believe me when I say it either. I would get mad, Mom, like they were saying we were less of a family because we only have one parent. I used to get upset about it, so much that I wanted to scream. Looking back now, I wouldn't want it any other way. Our family may not be perfect, but it isn't empty in any way. I think that spending the years without Dad and learning how to be strong and adapt was the best thing that could have happened to us, despite bad times here and there.
Mom, I see the sacrifices you make. Every day, I wonder how you keep it all together. But you do.
You've stretched every budget. You have monthly standoffs with piles of bills and papers that I could never attempt to decode, but every few weeks, you take the family out to dinner. During the Christmas season, you search and search for the perfect gifts so us kids won't worry about being low on funds. I remember asking you once if we were poor. You turned to me and told me to look around at how good we have it. There are people who aren't able to afford anything, you said. We're the lucky ones. You never look at the bad side of things, always searching for a silver lining in the midst of the darkest storm clouds. Even now, you always pick up the check, even when I wish you wouldn't. You take all of your children shopping for clothes at the beginning of the season and whenever you see us growing out of what we already own. All the while, you don't want us to see that you need new clothes even more than we do. I complained when you said you needed to run into one of the stores in the mall, not even realizing that you hadn't gotten new clothes for yourself in months.
You put us first, Mom. During the school year, you stay at the office for hours and hours, and still find a way to pick us up from sports, extracurriculars, and parties. We would whine and ask why we had to stay so late afterwards. You were doing the best you could, you said, but we didn't understand. You wanted us to be involved in clubs and sports, and you wanted us to go to parties. You didn't want us to feel left out, and you didn't want us to feel different than anyone else.
Mom, I'm the one who wishes I could be as strong as you. You've taught me the true meaning of strength, something that I could only learn from the things we've been through. True strength isn't learning how not to cry. It isn't getting up every morning with a skip in your step and a smile on your face.
Strength is letting yourself cry, and giving yourself that mental health day. Strength is looking around at the bad, but still seeing the good. It is acknowledging sadness and looking forward to happiness. It is putting those you love first, expecting nothing but their love in return.
You've taught me that strength is a three-letter-word.
Mom.
