Dear Mom,

Dear Mom,

Have you ever wondered, “Why me?” Have you ever felt so down and out, broken and bruised, that you uttered such pitiful words? Well, I’m not proud of it, but I have. Now I have an idea. Let’s take “Why me?” and make a case for it. Let me answer my own question, prove myself in; into the equation, into the world. Let’s make a case for why “me” is good. Why all of it, life is good. For me, that starts with you, for you are my mother.

You’re the soil I grew out of: at first snaking around, in between, pushing and prodding to make room for myself to incubate in the damp, warm, earthy darkness—and you simply gave it all unto me, never batting an eye or asking why. Then one day I emerged into the sunlight and fresh air to begin blooming on my own. I am my own person, but where exactly do you end and I begin? It’s not clear to me; the flower cannot be separated from the soil, or it dies. You are my roots. You nourished me with your own body, gave of yourself to me selflessly, provided me everything I needed to grow in this world, and you did it all without ever batting an eye or asking why. You never asked “Why me?” in regards to me. It’s a question a mother simply cannot utter of her own. Rather than a question, it’s an answer: “Yes, me.” You answered the call, and it was I on the other side. And I can’t tell you how happy I am that we’ve been connected in this way.

It wasn’t always easy; we’ve had our struggles. You, as powerful as Mother Nature herself, and I, your eager, budding counterpart. We were a match for the ages, a true spark in the darkness, but you always grounded me in my fire. I think I gave you a run for your money: I think at times I pushed you to your limits, and you pushed me to mine, and we’d meet at the edge and figure out where to go from there. Sometimes we pushed even farther, and battled out of bounds into unknown territory; the most powerful woman I’ve ever known, and her own daughter, struggling against each other’s power—a real force to be reckoned with, we could make thunder sound like a drop in a pond. The stakes were high, but we saw the battle worthy, and each other even worthier. Despite our battles, you still never questioned, never asked why.

I think I make you afraid in a very deep way. Ever since we became physically unattached, anything could happen to me. The world would get to have its way with me, and there was nothing you could do about it. I know that grieved you, and still does. I hear “over my dead body” and I feel the truth in that resonate. You would do anything for your children; you always have. But I think the greatest thing you ever did, was let us go. In that simple yet powerful act, you showed me how to face fear head on. You showed me that we have little to no control over anything in this world, and you showed me the appropriate way to respond to that: with absolute courage and trust. You showed me that even our most prized possessions were never really ours to keep. You met the single most agonizing force in the universe without a trace of fear in your heart, and in the face of it, you let go—let me grow into my own wildflowers, blooming where I may. And I can’t thank you enough for that most valuable lesson in courage.

I think you gave me a run for my money too. I used to wonder how it could be possible that I got the most powerful mother in the world. I wasn’t sure how it was possible that I was the product of you. You intimidated me—you were so strong, so confident, so powerful, and I this sheepy little kid with a lot to learn about the world. But you were patient with me, you taught me. You met me in my fear, and you led the way from there. In doing so, you formed a new force—one of your essence and my own.

I never would’ve guessed that I would become the woman I am today; but looking back at you, I can’t help but feel like I should’ve known all along. For I am of your essence, and your essence emboldens the senses—strong aromatics of Mother Earth herself. Your soil, blazing and combusting in my fire, flickers and smolders, glowing into ash. Ash, carbon—the essence of life, the building block of all things. That’s us. That’s how I see our relationship as mother and daughter. It’s everything and nothing colliding and cascading into the infinite dance of life itself. I’m so glad to be a part of it. I’m so glad that YOU are my mom. You are my source of vitality, a vital resource, a worthy counterpart; truly one for the ages, one for the books. To take but one page out of your book would set for life. But you wrote chapters, whole parts, sequels—sentence by sentence, all by yourself; all for me, for us.

You always told me, “When you have your own kids, you’ll understand.” I think that’s true and more. Kahlil Gibran once wrote, “You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.” Since I am of you, the most powerful woman and mother I know of—when my time comes I can take the baton, start from where you finished and go even further. That’s the gift you’ve given to me and my future children, and their future children, and theirs. Untold generations to come will reap the fruit of this soil you’ve sewn. And I’ll make sure they hear about it; that they know the power their grandmother and great-grandmother wielded—and that she has taken it of herself and bestowed it upon them, so that they might grow and prosper, enfold and bloom into the most dazzling flowers yet to be seen. For me, you are a time machine, a reflection of myself and my own power; you’re the forge that molded me, you are the kindling beneath my fire. In this way, you never end and I never begin—we are one in the same.

Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet - “On Children”

“And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you.

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.”

Chapter on Children, The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran (in the public domain)