Mom. Mama. Pinky. Jan. Janice. Dear. Sis.
She will answer to any of these, but I believe "Pinky" is her favorite beckon. That's what her 3 grandsons call her.
She didn't become a grandmother until she was 58 after believing it may not ever happen for her.
Accounting. Bookkeeping. Payroll. Spreadsheets. Analysis.
She has done that for work and now as a retired wife and home finance piddler, trying to spread retirement funds in all the right directions.
She didn't finish her bachelor's degree until she was 48.
That's perseverance and determination. And sacrifice. Don't think I didn't see you, Mom.
Cook. Grocery shopper. Queen of the kitchen.
Not only did she work, she cooked. She had homemade meals on the table for us every night (that we were home with all of our extracurriculars). And we ate together. At the table. With the TV off.
You taught me to cook, Mom. No set lessons. Just daily presence. Daily consistency.
I cook because of you, your mother, and your aunts. It dripped down into me, and I thank you.
Culture. Music. Theatre. Movies. Travel. Books.
I credit both Mom and Dad for this, but I think mom's love for the arts fueled my own.
Mom wasn't a musician or an artist. She didn't write for fun like I do today.
Children weren't always encouraged to pursue creativity in the 1950's and 1960's, so she made sure that we could do so.
She is now sprinkling this love into my firstborn, and he knows it. They are magnets for one another, and I love to see their attraction. Thank you, Mom. Everybody deserves at least one magnet.
Physical touch. Back scratches. Hands held. Hugs. Cuddles. Loving tenderness.
I am a nurse because of you. I am realizing this more and more every day as I straddle launching children and aging parents.
I learned to touch and care from you. One of my boys recently asked me "how did you know how to do that mom?" when he saw me soothing a baby and keeping her entertained. I learned it from you. I watched you and I received love from you.
Thank you for giving me softness. I'm hard and sharp in so many ways. I need that cushion you have given me.
Peace. Restraint. Calm.
I've seen you mad, but only when necessary. Mostly I see restraint and thought. Intentional words and actions. Maturity.
The tornado inside of me is calmed by your grounding, and for that I am forever grateful.
I got my feistiness from your mother, and I see your sensibility in my youngest. Thank you for giving me a mirror of you in him. He will always remind me of you in his tenderness.
Your childhood was very different from mine. But God knew I would need someone to talk to about families that may look different. My adulthood has been very different from yours. But God knew you might be able to heal some from witnessing adults making decisions that are really hard and living through plans that don't always work out.
That's what I want to believe, Mom.
That we have taught each other.
Helped each other grow.
You're my best friend, Mom.
And I see you. I don't believe in perfect. I see YOU.
And you see ME. All the cracks.
And we still choose each other.
Thank you for loving me through all of it. We are not done yet. And I can't wait for the rest.
I don't know what your relationship is like with your mother.
I don't know if your mom is alive or if she is already gone.
I can't fix whatever may have happened with you and your mother.
I can only share my truth and in this truth, I know that I am extremely lucky and blessed
to have the mom I have and the relationship we have.