I was going to get you a card and some flowers this Mother’s Day. Flowers are a no-brainer kind of gift. They are inexpensive enough that a starving college student can still give them. They don’t last as long as jewelry, but I’ve always found them more enjoyable. When I was a kid, I thought picking up a fistful of dandelions was the height of floral art. I could go out in the back yard and scrounge up a few of those yellow flowers, drop them in a plastic cup, and present it to you with a smile that suggested I was handing you a dozen long-stemmed roses. Now I know better. I can’t just go out in the garden and grab any old bunch of blooms and call it a Mother’s Day gift. You deserve something more personal and thought out than that. Which is why, this year, I’m not going to get you a card. Cards are nice, but just like a clump of dandelions, they usually fail to express precisely what is intended. This year, I am writing out all those things I don’t tell you enough.
Mom, I’m grateful. I cannot thank you enough for all those times you picked me up off the ground. No matter how bad things were or how bad they seemed, you were always there to give me perspective. When I was hurting, you gave me hope. When I was lost, you gave me guidance. I am who I am today because of what a wonderful mother you have always been. Someday, I will take all the love you have given me and pass it on to my own children. Until then, let me tell you how much I love you and how thankful I am for all that you’ve done.
Happy Mother’s Day,
P.S. I’m still getting you flowers.