To My Mom

In light of the challenge I posted this week (See here, if you haven’t read it), I decided to challenge myself by using this weekend’s Mother’s Day to let my Mom know how I truly feel about her. I often tell her that I love her at the end of a phone conversation but it’s rare that I actually explain how deep my love for her goes.

Mom,

I often tell you how blessed I am to have you as my Mom. That blessing goes so much farther than feeling privileged, honoured and just plain lucky. When I say that I feel blessed it’s because that everything you are has made me what I am today.

My perspective and understanding as a little girl of who you are was so unconsciously resolute. To me, you weren’t a normal human being. I mean, you were my MOM. You were always there for me, always the knee to run to when I was afraid, always the neck to hold onto with all my minuscular strength, always the one whose word was truth. You were my everything. My shelter, security, stability. Without you I felt lost, but with you everything fell into place.

Now that Im a Mom, I see you in an altered light. Rather than just viewing you as safety incarnate, I now understand how much you had to sacrifice for me to feel safe. You sacrificed your ability to voice your fears. You saw a situation and when it frightened you, you simply smiled and stepped into the fear. You are strength. I remember one cold winters night when I was about 10; Dad was often away for work during those years and you were at home with us three girls. That night, just before bed, you looked out into the dark from our little acreage home and noticed a light on in Dad’s shop with the door swung open. Dad hadn’t been home for days and the light hadn’t been on any other evening.

Fear.

We lived on an acreage, miles from the city and our closest neighbours were across the field. And yet, you spoke softly and concisely that you were going to check the shop, that we were supposed to stay inside until you got back. I was scared that someone was lurking in the dark but you stepped out into the night. And now I understand that you were afraid, too.

I get it now that you never stopped worrying. But I never would have known. You so patiently allowed me to learn things for myself, to try new things, to go new places, to explore my creative passions. You cheered me on and encouraged me along the way even when I’m sure your very being rippled with the what-ifs.

I learned how to be a lady from you. You always told Dad to stop teaching us off-color jokes or phrases because you were “raising little ladies,” but despite our sarcasm and occasional crassness,  you taught me that ladies are kind and accepting, full of love and grace but that there was no shame in being fiercely independent. That standing up for my beliefs was admirable and that understanding my worth and value was what kept my standards high.

You taught me what beauty is because you are the most beautiful person I know. Your beauty radiates from the very depth of your spirit outward. The joy within you glimmers through darkness and creates light. It stems from your deep faith in a God who loves you so unconditionally that you in turn love others with deep set compassion and sacrifice. 

Your unwavering faith is inspiring. The peace that rests on your home is evidence of this.

You have always been my biggest supporter, my deepest encourager, my listening ear. How many times during my teenage years did I sit on the bathroom floor, covered in tears and yet you were always there, sitting on the edge of the tub or leaning in the doorway, listening. Always listening. How grateful I am that you listened. That I always knew that no matter what I was going through, what mistakes I had made, what heart break I was enduring, you would listen. With no judgement.

I now understand that your kids are a piece of your heart. From the moment you gave birth your heart swelled and grew in ways that you never knew possible. But with this swelling and growing, your heart was left so vulnerable. These pieces of your heart; walking, talking, falling down, getting sick, learning new things (and so many times, the hard way) choice making; so independent from your own body and yet so very much a part of who you are. Oh Mom, I’m so sorry for all the little cracks and blisters, punctures and wounds that I gave your heart. But I am so very thankful that you kept taping them up, biting your lip and never giving up on me.

Mom, you’re forever and always a piece of my heart. Every single mundane moment at home with us day in and day out was worth it. And I call myself blessed to have you not only as my Mom, but my confidante, my friend.

I love you to the very depths of who you are.

Raelynn

P.S. My Mom is the inspiration and the greatest support of my blog. As a writer, she has impressed upon me her deep passion for writing and writing well. She has been a featured author on many web-sites and blogs, contributed articles to magazines, as well as manages her own blog, Scraps of Joy, and has something AMAZING in the works. If you want some of her peace, beauty and joy to filter into your life too, I highly recommend stopping by. You won’t regret it.

www.scrapsofjoy.com