How to Fall with Grace

Dear Mom,

We both know I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl.

Dad and I have a lot of things in common, it’s true, but I hope you know that number one on the list is you.

Dad is the one I go to when I need good, practical advice—the kind I don’t want to hear.

You are the one I go to when I need someone to help me feel better.

Through all the heartbreak and all the curveballs life has thrown at me, the one thing that has always been constant is that I can count on you to be there for me, no matter what.

There have been times I took that for granted, particularly when I was younger, I'm sure, but as I’ve grown up I’d like to think we’ve formed a different sort of relationship.

Now, I’d like to tell you that I’m here for you, too.

In spite of how you’ve always made it look, I know life hasn’t been easy for you. Not many people could be diagnosed with MS at the age of eighteen and keep living with the same positivity and enthusiasm you’ve managed to.

Do you know, that not once in my entire life have I ever heard you complain?

How is that possible?

If I was in your shoes, and I had to stay back at the hotel while my partner and child went off on adventures without me, I know I would complain about the hand I was dealt.

Not you, though. In those situations you were all smiles, telling us about the great day you had at the pool and all the people you met.

You’re always meeting people, Mom, and it’s because people are drawn to you. To your kindness, to your compassion, and to the quiet confidence you carry with you everywhere you go.

I know what you’re thinking and stop it. You’re thinking of all those times you’ve tripped and fallen in public, and how you weren’t so confident then.

Well, guess what?

Like mother, like daughter, and thanks to you I know how to fall with grace. When I trip over nothing and fall flat on my face, I’m the first person to laugh and get back up again. You taught me that.

When I think back, I can remember years of you undergoing treatment. Having to inject yourself with needles every other day, and suffering the agonizing side-effects that went along with them.

Still. You never complained.

I suppose the reason it took me so long to realize how strong you actually are, is that you make it look so damn easy. When people ask me what I would do if I was diagnosed with MS too, I always say the same thing:

“Obviously it would be awful, but I grew up seeing my mom live with it, and I know it would be okay.”

Sometimes I forget to stop and consider how hard life must be for you at times, and how unfair it must feel—because from the outside you'd never know it.

You make everyone around you feel loved, warmed, inspired. Who is it that inspires you? Were you born that way? Or have the struggles you’ve had to face made you who you are?

I guess I should ask you, and I will.

First, I want to tell you how much I admire you.

I want to tell you that I don’t know how to find the right words to illustrate how proud I am to have such a strong, inspirational, superwoman as my mother and best friend.

I want to say thank you for teaching me what courage looks like.

Most of all, I want to say I love you, Mom.

Love always,

Marin <3