How Dare You, Mother

I pick up my pen and press down on the lined paper. My calligraphy isn’t gorgeous like other daughters. My word choice isn’t creative. There’s no rhymes, limericks, haikus, or sonnets.

Only the truth deep in my heart.

There’s not a lot of time left to speak the truth. Funny how we think we have all the time in the world. Until death comes knocking on the door.

I spend day in and day out, working many hours for a business that will replace me within minutes. Anything for the almighty dollar. Paying rent. Paying loans. Paying for food. Paying for my phone. Making sure I have the internet. Making sure I have a streaming service too. Donating to charity. Updating my clothes every so often. I obsess passionately over my side hustles, so that I may work for them one day. The work never ends. It keeps me busy.

While deep in my heart, all I really want is to have what you had. Be like you were.

Become a mother myself and devote my full time to the little ones I bring into the world instead. Yet here I am. Older in life and still nowhere near that dream. Lamenting about it is the only power I have left.

So now I say…

Mother,

How dare you be the role model you were.

Because of you, I have the unrelenting urge to pass along all the love and life lessons that were given to me. When I make decisions, I keep you in mind. I think back to the tough life you had, thinking how do I overcome the same obstacles. I think “would my mom do this?” or “would my mom do that?” It’s a frustrating end as if I’m tied to you forever. How dare I have that deep feeling of caring what you think of me.

How dare you teach me manners.

I go to other people’s homes, only to hear

“She’s so polite”

“She asks to leave the table, how quaint”

“She offers to help prepare meals and clean up afterwards.”

I still will call people

“Ma’am”

“Sir”

“Hello, Mrs. Olbrich, how are you today?”

Some look at it as passive behavior. Some are put off by it. Yet my in-laws love me for it. My ex-in laws were devastated to lose me due to my gentle nature. All due to these stupid manners you taught me.

How dare you teach me humility.

I’ll never take a washer and dryer for granted. I’ve learned how to sew in order to mend my own clothes. I’ll wash dishes by hand and fold the towels gently. I never throw any of my belongings across the room, nor do I mistreat my possessions. I’ll only replace things once they are completely damaged or no longer work. I reuse and make things last as long as I can. When I make big purchases, I keep myself humble. I don’t brag nor do I show off.

Things you showed me as a child. I save money because of this. I laugh at the toaster you gifted me, knowing it’s only a few years younger than me. Yet it still works like a charm. I clean my place, keeping it free of dust and bugs.

There was a time I didn’t live like that. A short time in my college days where I let things rot. A lesson I had to relearn. A world I never want to return to.

How dare you teach me patience.

Patience in waiting for good things to come. Patience in holding out. Patience in teaching my pets to trust me. Patience in accepting flaws in others. Patience when it comes time to friends and arguments I have with them. Patience when waiting for a lover to enter into my life that won’t leave me broken like all the other ones.

Now I’m very patient. And even when I feel as if I’ve given up, there’s still a whole bunch of hope in my heart. Hope that forces me to hold out. And be even more patient.

How dare you support me, even when I rebel.

Being a teenager was the worst. Many people will agree. I rebelled a lot in my high school days. I used to sneak under your’s and father’s nose as much as I could. I have an outlook on the system and figured if there was a way around it, I would take it without hesitation. Yet you never looked down on me for it. We butted heads, but you were always there to love me. Always there to support me on my current crush of the week. Encouraged me to be the one to ask the guy out when he was too thick-headed to do it himself. Encouraged me to take the first step into standing up for myself.

I don’t back down anymore. I’ve stood up for myself more times than I can count. I’ve got a good head on my shoulders. I speak up when I feel there’s an injustice. And now my boss can count on me to stand up for those who aren’t comfortable sharing a voice of their own.

And you inspired this in me.

How dare you be open to listening to me.

I vent to you every week. It’s always something new. Someone did something at work. This friend of mine said that. I’m so sick of my neighbor doing this. Gosh, why can’t my birds just be normal for five minutes. My body is doing this weird function, what does it mean?

You are the perfect listener. You are just like me. Getting frustrated over the same things. We bond, connect, and encourage one another. I gripe about this one flakey friend, you gripe about the doctors. It’s a perfect balance.

And I trust you for it. And I’m terrified of losing you because of it.

How dare you instill a love of holidays and traditions in me.

I can’t think of anywhere else I want to be for Thanksgiving morning, than on the living room floor, watching the parade and drawing on my thankful quilt.

I’ll always be there in costume for Halloween and carve a pumpkin with you. I’ll show up in a pretty spring dress for Easter and dye eggs with you. I’ll show up for the summer holidays, whether to watch fireworks or enjoy a good cookout.

But most of all, I will always be there for Christmas. And now you’ve given me this insane desire to experience what you experienced. I want to see my children light up after receiving that special gift they asked for. I want to hear their squeals of delight over the joy of the holiday. I know it’ll be their favorite holiday too. I’ve been in the children’s shoes. Now I want to see it from your perspective. I want to feel that magic of Christmas all over again. When there’s nothing but love pouring from your family. And in one small moment, everyone is blissfully happy.

How dare I want to be everything you were. With knowledge of mistakes that were made. Mistakes I don’t ever want to make myself. Things I learned to better future generations. How dare I want a daughter. Who is just like you. Just like me. Who will grow up to be even better than me. Since she will see my mistakes I will make as a parent. And she will learn from them and not make the same mistakes on her own daughter. This wonderful thing we do as humans.

How dare I want to partake in that kind of life.

How dare I not have that life.

Mother, I want so bad to become a mother too. To give you a grandchild before you pass away. I’m terrified that it’ll never happen in time. The yearning to become a mother is incredibly strong. Incredibly strong to be just like you. Beautiful, loving, playful, and always there for me.

I’ve never told you this before, but when I grow up, I don’t want to be an author. I don’t want to be an actress. I don’t want to be a scientist. I don’t want to be a business woman. I don’t want to be an influencer. I don’t want to be an artist. I don’t want to be a programmer.

I have a strong feeling you already knew this, though.

That you know I want to be just like you.

A mother.

I love you, Mom.