Happy birthday dear mommy. Eighty-five years and you really have seen it all. You raised three children almost back to back, then welcomed another, and then when they told you your life was “changing” you welcomed me.
I was the preemie then.
(Boy, 4 pounds 13 ounces seems huge compared to my three, but I digress.)
I just want to let you know how very much you mean to me. It’s been a rough few weeks for you having to face challenges that landed you temporarily in a nursing facility. But you rallied and you are back home. Back home navigating the house you built with dad. The house that has seen numerous Ukrainian Christmas celebrations, that welcomed future in-laws, a house that eventually welcomed all 11 grandchildren. On the flip side, it was here were we said goodbye to dad. I still remember that morning (how does one forget) when I buried my head in your shoulders trying to find immediate comfort. And you were there.
As you always were: when “that boy” didn’t ask me to the dance, when “that coach” didn’t put me in the game…
You were there to rescue a birthday cake that looked more like pudding when it was done (thank GOD I got better at baking).
You were there when a friend and I, laughing wildly in the kitchen about something that you didn’t understand, you interrupted us and asked if we were drinking “giggle juice.”
Giggle Juice is NOT COOL when you’re a teenager.
But today, dear mom, even though we are only a county away, I want you to know that I appreciate all the ways you are still there for me.
Always reassuring me that we’re doing the right thing. You never promise it will be perfect — but you reassure me that everyone will be OK. Whether it be via a phone call, or by telling me you picked up extra detergent for us — it means the world.
And with 85 years on this earth, those words coming from you, mean more than anything.
So here’s to mom. My role model. My comfort.
I couldn’t do what I do without you.
~ until next time friends (go hug your mom or call her if you can.)