thank you

sometimes, it's hard for me to imagine what she was like when she was young. my mother, she was beautiful. her dark eyes must have drove the boys wild and her shinny hair was adored. she set off on her own at 18, confident in what she did know and naive of what she didn't.

her first date with my dad was a result of a bet. her boss was sure he was married. she, though they'd never spoken, knew he wasn't. she was right, the $20 was hers. my dad didn't think it fair she made money off of him and told her it was only fitting he took her out. he didn't let her pay then and she never went on another first date.

she was my age when i entered the world. this is hard for me to imagine for i don't feel old enough myself to have children. but she was, or maybe she just had to be. being the oldest, i can take credit for making her a mother. i watch my friends now as they begin their families. they 'oh' and 'aw' at every noise and movement and smile. i smile sometimes too wondering if that's how she looked at me.

next came eric, followed by amy, and ending with megan. her life became full of us. her hours revolved around our needs, our demands, our schedules. she put us completely ahead of herself. she never complained, that was our job. she'd clean a room and we'd follow behind messing it up. she's watched more puppet and magic shows than i care to count and ravished praise on every one. she patiently taught us to read and i still remember the moment she made 'carrying' in addition make sense.

one of my favorite memories were our 'secret nights' together on the weekends. i would pretend to go to bed with the others and only after i knew they were asleep, i would sneak out of my room and down the stairs where she was waiting for me. she taught me to sew on those nights, just me and her. we'd make christmas presents or dresses, barbie clothes for amy's dolls or cushions for the seats. i learned how to make her famous cookies which have no written recipe. i'm still learning, but in time and with her help, i will carry on her tradition.

a mother doesn't feel for us, but she feels with us. when we smile, she smiles. when we hurt, she hurts. i remember the hour she left me in the dorm room all by myself. i don't know for who it was more difficult. after five years of goodbyes, we both still cried. and this year, when the hurt seemed to go so deep and the tears would not stop, she didn't try to say something wise and motherly. she just held me and cried with me. now, she's about to send me off to strange place to people i don't know. but rather than be scared for my safety or encouraging of me to stay closer, she's begun reading books and sharing in my excitement. she's always told me she'll enjoy whatever moments she can have with me for she knows i'm meant to 'spread my wings somewhere else.' it is i who should be savoring these moments.

i will never understand the sacrifices she made until i am making them myself for most of them i never knew. i really think there is no other job more selfless than that of a mother, or at least my mother. it is a job she was never trained to do, her services never fairly compensated for, and one she will never retire from.

and now, by the end of this blog, the thankful tears cannot be stopped nor the depth of my gratitude accurately expressed. all i can find to say is thank you. for every moment, memory, tear and sacrifice, thank you.