Dear Mom,
You never taught me to cry. You MADE me cry at times, but that’s beside the point. The point is that from you, I never learned HOW to cry — how to feel my emotions, luxuriate in them, and weep. I don’t ever remember crying on your shoulder about my pains – external or internal, or stuffing your ear about my problems – real or imagined.
When I was sick and rolling in self-pity, you plied me with Tylenol and told me to get better. When I wasn’t doing well at school, you told me to work harder (or else). When I was smarting over a break up, you demanded that I put on make-up and go forth and conquer.
Simple. No drama required.
I grew up believing that nothing was worth my tears. Because I saw that nothing was worth yours.
When life handed you lemons, you tossed them aside and drank your wine. Then you overdosed on your medicines: laughter, family and girlfriends, eating, and traveling. These are and have always been your elixirs.
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Eventually, life itself taught me to cry.
But I am grateful for the gift you gave me: to know that at every lemon moment, I have a choice — to wilt or to anchor myself in the levity of the experience.
Because as you have taught us time and again, everything, no matter how seemingly serious, can always be a laughing matter.
How lucky I am to have you as my role model, my guide and my source of strength. Love you so much, Mom. Happy birthday.
Love,
Me