My mom is one remarkable lady. Not only is she wickedly smart and nutty in the funniest way, but she has this phenomenal ability of connecting with people.
And this means all people - she wants to talk to them and learn their story. Her friends range from really cool 28 year-old hipsters who are also my friends, to a group of 70+ year-old long blade skaters.
Growing up, her talking to random passerby and making friends with grocery store cashiers and antique store owners embarrassed me more than the menstrual cycle, but as I’ve stepped into my womanly shoes, I’ve come to see it’s a beautiful gift.
Back in 2000, I got confirmed. We went on a retreat before the confirmation and at the end of the retreat we were given an envelope with letters inside from our parents. I remember reading mine in a corner filled of candlelight. As I read the words, salty wet tears poured down my face. I find myself coming back to these letters a lot. I pull the off-white envelope with my name scrawled across the front down from its tucked away spot on a shelf in my closet. Every time I read, the tears come back.
An excerpt from my dad’s letter:
I love to watch your mother’s qualities growing in you. You are a lot like her in the way you command a situation and make people comfortable around you immediately. Your spirit is strong and that is a good thing. You will never be wishy-washy and people will always know how you feel about things. That is very good when it comes to dealing with people. They will never have to read your mind.
I haven’t thought about this until more recently. My mom has a strong and powerful side to her personality, which is very nicely balanced with her tender and sensitive side. I love this about her, and I love that I’m finding that I have this, too.
I have my days - the ones when I’m totally lost and confused. And absolutely always, she’s there. Even through the cursing and tears. My mom can understand what I’m saying when I’m speaking straight gibberish or I’m standing in the middle of Times Square and honking cabs and foreign voices are louder than my own words. She’ll listen, she’ll give advice - she’ll just be there.
I’m lucky to have her. And that when people say, you’re just like your mom, all I can do is smile.
