Mom

Mom, I love you, so so so much.

You've always been kind of insane; we both know that.

I make my bed every single day now. I don't even know why I do it. I think some subtle part of me longs to be like you.

I've always considered you to be the most beautiful woman I know. Sweet, non-interfering (haha.. at least with people other than your children), and still somewhat timid, you have always been there for me.

Two years ago, when I started college, you wrote me a letter on crumply yellow legal pad paper. I lost it; for this I'm sorry. But I didn't lose the message: that you are proud of me and that you'll never forget that we have, out of anyone in our family, been together the longest, and that for a while each other is all we had.

I'll never forget that either, mom. Ever ever. I'm sorry I don't call you every single day, like you did for your mom. Know that even when I don't call, I think about you very often, and that a picture taken in fall 1990 of you and me hangs above my bed.

While you'll probably never read this, I think it's important that it's documented. Out there somewhere in the infinite abyss of tired and lonely souls' late night confessions that comprises a large segment of the internet.

I can't wait to see you again.

P.S. I bawled too, when you left on the RV trip this summer. I get my disdain for goodbyes from you, I believe.