What do you think I am from my mother’s point of view? Like really, who does she see? I always make comments like, ugh my mom or you know, my mom or oh, moms.
She’s endured my years of eye-rolls and sneers and rubbed my back when I was stressed and seen my ugly cry. She ate all of my chicken and mushroom dinners when everyone else complained. She read through my cheering at the basketball games. She decorated my birthday cakes. That’s a lie, but she did help me with my homework.
She tells me she misses me and she loves me and I just wonder who she is talking about. But who does she miss? What does she miss? I come home and I challenge everything she says. I always offer my opinion even when it’s not sought. Or I’m quiet and I’m reserved and I make jokes at my childhood’s expense. At her expense. I don’t know what it is that ties her to me. I don’t know what she sees in me. Sometimes I call her on her birthday. Sometimes I ask her to spend time with me when I visit. Sometimes I celebrate good news with her. If she could choose, if she could have chosen, would she have chosen me? Knowing everything she does now? Beyond the ties that bind – who am I to her?