For My Mom, Marilyn Prowse, on Mother’s Day

I Promise You'll Get a Real Gift Next Year


Dear Mom:

Thought I would write you a little on-line letter as part (read: “all, since I’m broke”) of your Mother’s Day present. It’s really just a list of thank yous, which I’m sure will grow over time, but I’ll start with things that have occurred to me over the past few weeks.

Thank you for making such good school lunches. And for making sure I had one every day.

Thank you for making me go outside on sunny days.

Thank you for taking me seriously when I was young, and talking to me about serious things, even when you didn’t have the answers, or the answers were scary.

Thank you for being active in sports, and encouraging me to play.

Thank you for being calm when I got hurt; not only did I always feel safe and well-cared for, but I’ve grown up with an acceptance that pain and injury are part of living a full life, and I have respect for my body’s natural healing process.

Thank you for driving me to, picking me up from, and cheering me on at, all of the events in my young life. I didn’t know it then, but it really meant a lot of me.

Thank you for making such good meals, and for letting my friends whose parents couldn’t cook stay for dinner.

Thank you for having dinners at the table instead of in front of the TV. Having the whole family together to talk after a day of work and school was a ritual I will always cherish. Remember the food fights?

Thank you for paying.

Thank you for drawing pictures for me to colour in when I was little, and the colouring books were all filled in. I still remember the one you drew of the fireplace, with the mantle and all the bricks. I was amazed.

Thank you for being a good example. It’s the best lesson you could have ever taught me.

Thank you for letting me make my own decisions, when they weren’t life-threatening.

Thank you for always making sure there were cookies in the house, and then moderating my consumption.

And finally (for now), thank you for still giving me Lego every year on Christmas or my birthday. I may act indifferent about it, but I still take it away and play with it.

I love you, Mom, and I’ll see you soon!

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