travelling with loose laces

To my mother…

There are, I suppose many types of mothers. Those who give you life and assume that that is enough and leave you to the world to fight your way through. There are those who never let go, always reaching for your hand as if that umbilical cord was never really severed – these are the mothers of chicken soup and warm powdery hugs. I don’t have the authority to describe them all – the only mother I can truly speak about is my own. 

When I think of my mother, I think of courage. Not many people would describe her as such, not at first glance at least. She’s been described as warm, compassionate, as empathetic and intelligent. She’s been, more times than I can count, been described as beautiful. All of these things are true. But when I think of my mother, I think of courage.

She’s never slayed dragons, nor did she stake vampires (much to 13-year old me’s disappointment), but she did get up every morning and face the world, despite peeling paint and peanut butter sandwiches. The details aren’t important, what matters is that I watched her struggle at times, but always try, always give everything she had for myself and my sisters. As a child, that makes you feel safe, wherever you are. To me, she was always clad in shining armour.

I’m one of the lucky few, I believe, to able to call my mother a friend. Not only a friend, but an inspiration, a light, a guide.

So, on this mother’s day, I have nothing but love and gratitude towards her.

Thanks, mum. I love you.