I see you.
I see your worn and chapped hands.
I see those tired eyes and I wish I could grant them more sleep but my specialty is in the world of imagination, not this world most of you live in.
Those arms that wrap me in a hug and maybe shake sometimes now but still press me close to your heart.
I see you, Mother.
It’s hard, isn’t it?
No one told you that raising children would have to be done at the same time as your own growing up. No one said that you’d have to learn right alongside them. You always hope you’re doing better than- than everyone- but so often you’re pretty darn sure you’re failing. You’re failing your kids, your husband, your family- yourself.
Mother, you’re not.
You love them.
You let them fall down sometimes because they learn to pick themselves up again.
You cry every single time they fall because you want them to not hurt.
And you tell them you’re proud of them.
Mother, I’m growing up. I won’t always be your baby girl. But because you’ve been brave enough to let me fly and let me fall, you and I are friends-companions-equal adults. I’ll be here, Mother. Just a phone call away. (I’ll even pick it up, even though I have a phobia about phones.)
Mother, I love you.
I’m proud of you.
Happy Mother’s Day.
~Love, your Butterfly Emergent~