Quantcast


Last updated: May 22. 2014 8:43AM - 404 Views

Story Tools:

Font Size:

Social Media:

I don’t mind so much that there seem to be designated days of celebration or recognition for everything under the sun. It’s a solid marketing ploy by greeting card companies, florists, or any company that caters to these types of gifts. I just don’t happen to be one of those people who feel obligated to observe them.


Yes, I sent my mother a flower but not for one second did I believe it was some sort of symbol of her significance or my appreciation. I feel confident my mother knows exactly how I feel about her and what she means to me and my life.


She knows, not because of a sappy card a freelance writer sequestered in an apartment or basement somewhere has pounded out on a laptop for $5 a pop — and I can say this, I have made a living doing similar jobs myself.


My mother knows, truly knows in her heart, that I love her beyond words despite the fact I spend a great deal of time writing about our relationship, especially on social media. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a single word has infinite possibilities and still it is impossible for me to express even a fraction of what I would like to say.


Instead, I act.


Not a day passes we don’t talk at least once and usually much more. Even when she is angry with me, always deservedly so as I seem to have that effect at times, it never interferes with an “I love you.” I not only feel but want her to know she is and always will be the most important woman in my life. Yes, I am a momma’s boy and it doesn’t bother me a bit.


More than once during my adult life she has had no problem during my most obstinate moments to tell me she loves me. She may not like me very much … but yes, she loves me. I pushed every limit that woman has, have been a wild child my entire life, rebellious and headstrong, unbending and at times unforgiving, driven by a need to thrive on just being me … a self-indulgent egoist who has no issue in owning it. I am the youngest child of four and the only boy so, that may explain a smidgen of that.


She has held my hand and dried my tears as a child, a boy, and a man. She has been there through heartaches and loss. That woman dragged me kicking and screaming into the closest resemblance of adulthood I can manage … and along the way gave me the desire to be a good man.


My shortcomings are just that: mine. So next time I show up to whatever it is you invited me to and am wearing at least a pair of flip flops and pants, you can thank her.


I could spend an immeasurable amount of pages describing the innumerable ways I am indebted to my mother and still my description would pale in comparison to reality. In the face of that stark reality, I’ll do the only thing I know to do.


Momma, I love you, now and always. As long as I draw a breath you will live on in me. As for telling you how deeply I feel, all I can do is make a promise, give you my word quoting one of my favorite writers (yes, one of those hippies I read):


“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.” — Jack Kerouac


Comments
All user comments are subject to our Terms of Service. Users may flag inappropriate comments.
comments powered by Disqus



Featured Businesses


Poll



Info Minute



Gas Prices

Easley Gas Prices provided by GasBuddy.com