A few days ago, I went to a screening of a Canadian documentary about a daughter who was abandoned at a young age by her mother and spent her whole life trying to form a connection with her that was constantly rebuffed, well into their respective 50s and 70s.
My Mom hung up every picture I ever drew. She praised everything I ever did. And as I tumbled towards adulthood, no phone call was ever unanswered. She was always there.
My Mom bought me my first couch. She called me after every job interview to ask how it went. She asked a million questions about every boyfriend I ever had.
My Mom always told me I could be whatever I wanted to be; do anything I wanted to do. And whenever I tried something, she’d tell me I was great at it. I wrote, and she entered me into writing contests. I danced, and she told me I had natural rhythm. I smiled for photos and she would remind me I had beautiful, almond-shaped eyes. She never wanted me to dye my hair because she thought my natural colour was perfect. She thought I was perfect. She’s the reason I’ve always known I could be whatever I wanted to be, and that’s what a good mother does.
Happy Mother’s Day to the mothers who are here, the mothers who aren’t, and especially to mine.
Especially mine
