Mum

It is the fifth year I will not be home for Mothers Day.  I guess if you keep telling yourself, "there's always next year," eventually next year becomes five years later.

I love my mother. I can not stop talking about how much I love her.  So much so, my friends think she is awesome.  And she is.  She is wise, and kind and has a killer sense of style.  Genuine- when I wear the clothes she picks out for me, people actually complement my dress.

But I miss her.  I miss talking to her about irrelevant things I worry about, and then listening to her tell me that I should not worry about irrelevant things.  I miss her curries, the way she makes hot chocolate, her fingers running through my hair to set it right, when she dusts the back of my shirt, her hugs before she leaves and indeed, her screeching voice when I do something wrong.  

When I do not know what to do, I quickly try and think about what my mother would do in the same situation.  She is the first person I call when something important happens.  She is the first person I call when I am in trouble.  I call her first, just because.  Her opinion matters most.  She is my person.  She is my home.  She was my first home.  She is the reason I call home.  And wherever she will be, is home.    

She knows me.  She knows when I am scared.  She knows when I am confused.  She knows when I am happy.  She knows who I am not.  And when I am with her, I can be just that.  The person no one else sees.  The person who is just irritated with the world.  The person who wants to be left alone for a few hours.  The person who is not brave and undefeated.  She is my hero when I can not be the hero.

She is the good part.  She inspires my story.  She is fearless.  She is strong.  She is forgiving.  She loves.  She is Mum.

AND

This is the hard part.  One day.  I will have to inspire.  I will have to be fearless.  I will have to be strong.  I will have to be forgiving.  I will have to love.  I will be Mum.

LOVE YOU MUMMY