My mom is like an open, outstretched palm with lines, valleys and wrinkles that hold all my sorrows. When I place my palm in hers, it’s like I know why I’m alive. My mom is like a hug that cocoons me from my worries. My mom is like a forehead kiss that whispers “I love you” before a good night’s sleep. She was my beginning, is my now, and will be my forever. When I’m with her, I know where I belong. When I miss her, I know who I am. I’m her daughter and how did I get so lucky?
To know my mom is to know what sunshine sounds like. She is the warmest light, illuminating the right direction. She is yellow, orange and gold. Her smile is a sunrise, somehow there morning after morning. Her voice reminds the birds to chirp and the bees to buzz.
She is my favorite cup of coffee. My favorite song that I never get sick of no matter how hard I try. My favorite book with nail polish stains that I left there when I was ten. My favorite t-shirt that I wear to bed once a week. She is everything that feels good.
Her hair has lines of white in it where fairies live. Her eyes are every color of the rainbow. Her teeth translate love into every language. Her lips have told stories and made whole rooms laugh.
When I’m with her, time matches the rhythm of the ocean’s currents. Outer space feels like I could explore it and come back with stories to tell. When I’m with her, I feel like a little kid gripping around their mother’s waist again, holding onto what perfection feels like. If I had a time-traveling machine that could take me back in time, I’d revisit every waking moment I’ve ever spent with her.
The most perplexing thing of all is that she loves me. She loves me when she looks at me. She loves me when she speaks to me. She loves me when she laughs with me. How do I know? I know it like I know how to breathe. The future isn’t so scary. The unknown isn’t so lonely. The bad days are another person’s best ones. I look at her and I wonder what it’s like to be joy incarnate.
Just knowing she exists in my existence makes me unsure that this lifetime isn’t already nirvana. There truly are no words in any language to express how my heart feels. Maybe that’s a good thing though, like I somehow have the cheat code for happiness.
When I sing, I want her to know she’s in every word. I want her to know that I look for her in every face. I want her to know that I’ll be just fine. I am brave, I am kind, and I am strong. I know how to love others and how to be loved back. I know how to let fear live inside me and become my friend. I know how to whisper and how to shout. I never settle. I don’t judge. I give a damn. I matter. I am my mother’s daughter.
I hope that I fulfill every dream you once had about my future. I hope that I prove to you what a great job you’ve done. I want to be the hand that you hold onto forever. I want to be on every other side of your hugs. I want to be where every one of your kisses land. Because that’s where I’m whole. That’s where life goes from hard to easy.
You made me with love and I feel it down to the tips of my toes. Maybe one day, I’ll have a daughter whose heart I can make whole. And I’ll tell her all about the woman that made us perfect. But for now, I’ll just keep holding your hand, if that’s okay with you.