Saturday, June 6th, 2015

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my mother’s daughter

The older I get, the more I see my mother and my father in the things I do, the decisions I make, the way I smile.  Family is such a strange thing — these people who raise you, who influence every nuanced part of who you are without you even realizing it … Until time passes, and you catch your reflection in a mirror, out of the corner of your eye, and instead of seeing yourself, you see your mother.

My mother is incredible.  She is the most amazing human being I’ve ever had the privilege to know.  She is wise, and thoughtful and diplomatic.  She is beautiful and funny and creative and kind.  She is all the good that exists in the world.  I am a fraction of her (by default of DNA, really).  A shadow of who she is as a woman.  I am constantly impressed by her — in big ways, in small ways … really, in all ways.

I am inordinately proud to be her daughter.  Just to know her, to have been raised and influenced by her — I consider it the greatest gift I’ve ever received (followed closely by meeting my husband, who is also one of the world’s truly good people).

I don’t have the words, or the ability, to properly articulate how much I love my mother, my father, my ‘little’ brother, my aunt. I have been gifted with the most incredible family — people of impeccable character, integrity.  I don’t say it enough — don’t tell them often enough how much I love them, how endlessly grateful I am.  Life seems to get in the way — petty, insignificant things that shouldn’t but do consume the hours, the days.

I am so proud to be my mother’s daughter.  I think she is incomparable.  She is perfection.  And I love her more than any word, no matter how beautifully crafted, could ever explain.