Thank you, Mom. For the things I remember. For the things I’ve forgotten. And especially for all the things you did without ever asking to be thanked.
What’s something Mom always says?
Did you eat?
What’s something she did that you didn’t appreciate enough at the time?
All those little sacrifices I thought were normal were never normal. They were love.
What’s one memory you still carry?
I remember the moments when I was scared, tired, confused or lost — and somehow you always made things feel a little less frightening.
What do you want to thank her for?
For believing in me on the days when I didn’t believe in myself.
What do you want her to know?
I may not say it enough, but so much of the person I am today exists because of you.
I love you. I always have.