Where do I even start?

I love you more than I could ever say. I know the bond between mother and daughter is a very special one to many people, but I can say with all confidence that you are my best friend. You raised me the best you and Daddy knew how, and I am incredibly grateful for all you did and are doing for me. You tried to make my life better, sometimes even at the expense of your own. You are a sweet sweet woman, and it makes you smile to give people gifts. Naturally, being your daughter, I’m the recipient of many such gifts. But the best gift you’ve ever given me is raising me in a Christian home. I don’t have too terribly many memories from my childhood (I have an awful memory), but I will always remember your prayers. I knew and always have known that you were praying for me. And that feeling, Mama, is one of the best feelings in the world. It made me feel so safe, like I could go out and try anything, because I had you and your prayers as my safety net.

And once I finally accepted the beauty of God’s grace and entered into a relationship with Him, you were still right there beside me, only this time as a fellow warrior. You rejoiced with me when I grew, and disciplined me in order to help me to do so. I see that now. All those times when I screamed at you and “hated” you must have broken your heart. And for that I’m forever sorry. But hindsight being better than foresight, I can see that you were helping me to grow. It’s just like wearing a back brace. Sometimes it hurts really bad, like when you first put it on, because your back doesn’t naturally want to grow straight. But through the pain and through the annoyance, it grows and grows, until one day you take off the brace and your back is straight and you realize that that brace was ultimately the best thing for you at that time. I know you tried to be my back brace, Mom, and I really appreciate the guidance and wise direction that you and Dad gave me.

And when Daddy was diagnosed with Leukemia, you amazed me even more. Instead of falling apart and feeling sorry for the awful state of things, you were incredibly strong. It blew me away how gently and patiently you took care of Daddy, even when he was on steroids that made him angry, even when you had to change his bloody nose bandage, and even when he got shingles in his eyes and collapsed on the kitchen floor. All of these situations could have and should have caused you to lose it, to run far away. But you didn’t. You stayed next to him, the man of your dreams, as he slowly faded away. You had to watch him die, and you held on.

Now I don’t say all of that to be depressing. That fact that all that happened to you is not the point. The point is that YOU GOT THROUGH IT. And even more than that, our family thrived and survived and loved and still laughed (a lot). You still made us dinner, you still checked our grades and helped us with homework, you still went to work every day and came home to us every night. And when he was in the hospital, in those final days of his life, you were there for us then, too. You held his hand, only went to work so that you wouldn’t get fired. When he actually passed, you and I were there, and those moments will always be some of the best I’ll remember about us. You held me and cried with me, and I realized that you were just as (if not more) broken-hearted as I was. I think that was the first time I started to see you as a real “person,” not just my “mom.” You were always so strong in front of Ted and me, and in those moments after Daddy died, when you were sobbing, I saw you for the first time as a woman who had just lost your true love and your best friend. That broke my heart even more.

But at the same time, I’m glad I finally realized that, because it opened the door for a stronger relationship. After December 31, 2003, you and I started to grow closer by the day. I feel like I can tell you anything, and you’ll still love me. I know you’re still there for me like you always have been, but the difference is that now I want to be there for you too.

And thankfully, I can be. When you were diagnosed with PLS, I was heart-broken. It wasn’t long after losing Daddy, and I was absolutely terrified of losing you. I couldn’t handle the thought of watching you slowly fade away and deteriorate like I had to with him. But the way you have handled your disease and the joy with which you’ve lived is an amazing testament to the power of Christ in your life and the amazing amount of faith and trust you put in Him. It breaks my heart when I see you stumble, or even to see you in a wheelchair, but I know that you belong to God and that His plan for your life is the best thing in the end. Remember the back brace analogy? I know this is uncomfortable for you, and annoying at times when you feel helpless, but remember that God is your back brace, and someday you will stand strong and tall and proud and be thankful that you wore it and didn’t give up.

I know you’re sad and frustrated that you have to ask for help now. And I’ll admit, it was a little weird at first for ME to have to take care of YOU. But even though I’ve adjusted, I’ve realized that you’re STILL the one caring for ME, and not the other way around. Yes, I may be the one helping you get in the car, or walk down the sidewalk, or get up the stairs, but you’re the one who is STILL teaching me what it means to love someone so much you don’t mind doing everything you can to help them. I’ve grown so much in my love for you since this happened, and it makes me want to do everything I can for you. I wish with my whole heart that God would take this from you, but I realize that’s not in His plan for you right now. And the ways in which you’ve coped with that fact and brought glory to God through it are amazing to see.

I love you Mommy. You make me laugh so hard I cry, you make me miss you when I have to go back to school, but more importantly you make me want to be a better person. You’re beautiful, amazing, faithful, strong, gentle, and generous. I know a lot of people say that they want to be like anybody else BUT their mothers, but I’d count myself lucky to someday be half the woman you are. And if I end up like you, then my prayers will have been answered. I love you, Mama. Happy birthday.

Love, Heather