Sunday, May 8, 2011


Because it's only fitting to kick off the series on Mother's Day. No, Dad, this doesn't mean you'll have to wait a month for your letter, it just means that I'm starting here.

I've been wracking my brain all morning to try to think of my first memory of my mom. And I can't. I can remember the first time I saw my brother, Andy. I can remember a weekend spent at Pop-Pop and Mom-Mom's house when I was 3 years old, with pancakes for breakfast on a metal TV tray watching Bugs Bunny.
I remember the distintive, comforting smell of my Granny and the night Beth was born. I remember waking up the morning after Halloween to a new brother and visiting my baby sister Becky in the hospital.

But I don't have a clear, distinct first memory of my mom.

This made me sad at first, but then I realized that she's always been such presence in my life, ALWAYS been there, that it's hard to pinpoint a "first."

Me with my Mom, 3 months old. I don't think my eating skills have gotten much better. Nor my BMI.

And it's hard to write a love letter to the most important woman in my life. Because the feeling is so enormous that I find it difficult to put into words.

I never really understood what unconditional love meant  until my older son, Curt, was placed in my arms for the first time. I had never loved an individual knowing that no matter what they did or who they were, I would ALWAYS, UNFAILINGLY love them. This gave me such a better insight into my mom, who loves unconditionally in spades.

Fun in the snow with Mom. February, 1973 (so i was 1 1/2)

My mom  has an amazing capacity to love all five of us kids (plus some). I never understood how much you could love five different children, as she always claimed, until I had my own.

I never understood how she had the energy for all five of us, five children who were so different but equally loved.

I could write a book about my mom: her patience, her hard work, the fact she always went above and beyond. All the Easter dresses (and prom and homecoming and wedding) she made for me (with love) and stood in the fabric store patiently while I agonized over the pink rosebuds or the blue. I could write about the times she let me cry on her shoulder over some silly boy or all the times she created the most amazing birthday parties for me (make your own pizza! Slumber party! ). I could also write about the middle school years when I think she forbade me from talking to her in my snide, 7th grade tone and asked me to write her notes instead. I'm sorry, Mom!

I don't think it's rare or uncommon to not really appreciate your parents until you're an adult and FINALLY realize how much you need them. I wouldn't have made it through Curt's diagnosis without my mom. I wouldn't have had such great memories of the births of my boys without my mom. All the visits, the beach trips, the love, the meals, the time she's showered on me and my boys. Too much to put into words.

I hope she knows. If I can be a FRACTION of the mother she is... I will have been successful and proud and accomplished what I most wanted in life.

I love you, Mom.

Easter 1974

And the weekend AFTER Easter 2011, with nephews/grandsons Rylan and Ben

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