My own mother and I were never close. She had me too young and was not ready to give up her lifestyle yet. In fact it took until she was in her 30’s and on death’s door before she gave up that wild life she had loved. As a child my mother was never around, and when she was she was usually drunk and abusive. She towered over me, screaming and raising her fist, and I was terrorfied. Now she can barely lift her arm, she’s become withered and shrunken, her own body failing her more and more each day.
But this is supposed to be a thank you. I will admit, those two words are hard to say to my mother. The few moments of love and kindness seem too insignifigent to be worth a thank you. The few things I was grateful for as a child now seem so cruel and empty. So what in thw world could I say thank you for?
Then I see my own sons. They are laughing, driving toy cars across the room, squealing with delight when one of them manages to startle a cat. And I know what I want to say thank you for. For being alive. For being here, for the chance to grow up, to become an adult, and to have children of my own. Every moment they smile is a moment that I am grateful to be their mom.
So thank you mother. For creating me and giving me life. For giving me the chance to know my sons. For that, I am thankful.