When I was in eighth grade, I was . . . well . . . I was a thirteen year old girl. In the middle of the drama of middle school life I didn’t really know where I fit in. There was one Wednesday in November of 2008 that I remember running to my room after school weeping hysterically. I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what it was about that time. I think a friend of mine threatened to tell the boy I liked that I liked him. Whatever it was, it felt like the end of the world to me, so I locked myself in my room to cry for hours and hours.
Six-o-clock came around at it was time to go to church. My mom knocked on the door and told me it was time to leave. “I’m not going!!” I shouted back in tears.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I can’t go! I just need to stay here and be by myself!!”
She left with my brother and sister and I stayed home alone that night. When I woke up the next morning, there was something in front of my bedroom door. I bent down to pick it up and was shocked to find a chocolate bar and a note that something like:
I know yesterday was rough, but it’s going to get better. I love you and I’m proud of you.
She never asked what was wrong. She didn’t have to. She knew exactly what I needed.
My mom has never forced me to do anything; she’s let me make my own mistakes as I’ve grown up. But every time I come to her in tears, she approaches me with grace. She shows me love and kindness without ever throwing in “I told you so” (except when I really deserve it.) I’m so thankful that I was blessed with such a beautiful mother.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you so much.