When I sit down to write about how much my mom means to me, as cliché as this may sound – I don’t have the words to describe this woman. How fortunate I have been and am to have this amazing person in my life. She truly is the epitome of mother.
When I think about growing up, I think about how my mom was (and is) always there. There in the morning getting us up for school, watching us walk to the bus stop and how we would wave to her until we rounded the corner and how we would sneak back to get one more wave in. I think about how she was there when we got home to ask about our day. I think about her tending her garden, her making fresh baked bread and smothering it with butter and handing us a piece. I think about her wrapping a babushka around my head and letting me help her bake cookies. I think about her telling me my worth.
I think about her holding me tight after my first real heart break. I think about her telling me how proud she is of me and times when I simply broke her heart. I think about the smile on her face when I told her good news, and the concern in her eyes when I was sad. I remember trips to gallop park, feeding the ducks and paddle boating down the river. I think about the botanical gardens and touching the plants that went inward when you touched it.
I think back on her dragging us to church and giving us the fish eye when we disobeyed. I remember the ann arbor art fair and the willow tree and the tornado that freaked me out so bad that she ran upstairs to get me a paper bag to breathe into. I think about her infectious laughter, making up stories about shauni pun jab and his people and taking a joke one step further. I think about our mother daughter trip to Chicago and walking a million and half miles and seeing Oprah’s last show and looking at each other that night thinking – is this realllly happening?!
I remember the joy of finding out I was pregnant and finally letting her know. I remember her being there when I fell to pieces shortly after his birth and how she was there. worried. scared. but strong. I think about the weird lip thing she does to get a good chuckle out of people and her unbelievable ability to tell a story. I think about our camera adventures snapping away pics in plymouth, royal oak, birmingham, and our fun photography class we took together. I think about walking around downtown ann arbor while it was snowing as we walked down the street arm in arm while the wind was whipping the snow around us like a cold blanket and us smiling at each other giddy and her saying – someday you’ll remember this moment.
I am fortunate that she is my mother. I am fortunate that she gets me. I am fortunate that she is there for me always.