It seems almost silly to celebrate Mother’s Day. We put so much pressure and emphasis on this one day in particular. Just one day out of the year to praise and pamper the women who gave birth to us. One day dedicated, especially, to the ladies who raised us and put (perhaps still do) our needs in front of theirs, each and every day. One day isn’t enough to show the amount of love and gratitude we have for these women. How could we possibly fit it all into 24 measly little hours? Everyday should be Mother’s Day. After all, they were parents to us every day, not just one day in May when they felt like it. No, they were there holding our hands when we were scared. Feeding us soup when we were sick. Making us laugh when we were sad. Singing us Happy Birthday when everyone else forgot or were to busy to care. These were normal occurrences that happened on the daily and without so much as a thought or hesitation. They were super heroes when we needed them to be because who else would or could be? We know all this and yet we somehow forget that they deserve so much more than just one day out of the 365.
So let’s celebrate their love and dedication everyday. Let’s thank them for being there for us and for all that they did, and still do, more than just once a year. Let’s throw this May day out the window and create our own rules. From now on Mother’s Day is everyday—or subsequently Father’s Day as well—because we owe it to them. Because they deserve it. Because we wouldn’t be here without them.
I could go on record to say that my mother is the best mother any son or daughter could ask for. I could go on and on about the woman who carried me for all those months (as she likes to point out in moments of guilt but I have to remind her that I did her a favor; she only carried me for 7 months). I could reminisce and share stories as to why my mother is the greatest, numero uno, A#1, mother in all the world. Sure, I could do all those things but I’m positive I’m not the only one who feels that way towards their mamma. Also I’m not sure I would even know how or where to begin. So this is dedicated to the woman who taught me everything I know. Dedicated to the days you’d drop me off at school and pick me up. Dedicated to the mornings you’d sing and dance for me to wake up. Dedicated to the moments when you were right (which was like always). To all the answers you had. To the special psychic abilities that freaked me out, the ones only a mother possessed. The jokes you told. The games we played. The meals you cooked. The strength you had. The hardships you survived. Devoted to the days you’d tell me to stop jumping on the bed because I’d get hurt—a handful of stitches above my left eye later—I finally understood you had indescribable super powers to look into the future. Above all this is to the love and commitment you have for your three children. We wouldn’t even be a quarter of the people we are today if it wasn’t for you. Now three grown adults who owe it all to you. With all the love in the world, I thank you.
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