You Deserve to Know

You stand in an endless and still lake, thinking any baby ripples are powerful waves. You pretend the cushy, solid bottom is going to give out at any second with a current or riptide. You mistake your lovely reality for the concerns of the unknown. You wonder if anything you do is enough, you worry that you float unseen, you wish for time to move slower. But, Mom, I need you to know that we are here. The love you have given is the love you now receive. We painted the sky you see reflected in this lake. Look up. See the beauty your children are capable of, because of you. The twinkling purple, for forgiveness and healing. The pale pink, for new beginnings and hope. The bright orange, for laughter and joy. The deep blue, for promises and love. These are the strokes we made for you to admire. We have painted you a home in our hearts, as we climb ladders of self love, taught by you, our Mother.

For my young age, we have experienced so much life together. I have seen you in moments of absolute despair, with work up to your ears and all odds against you. I watch you closely. You listen before speaking and speak carefully. You try to understand. You aim to heal and help. You endure the pain that I endure. You even find a way to blame yourself, much to my protest.

“Don't spoil her,” you say to my girlfriend, “She likes it too much.” We giggle and I shake my head. I wouldn’t have called the way you support me ‘spoiling’. Controlling my pain medication after surgeries so that I don’t become dependent. Paying for my school, even though I wanted to study art, or especially because I wanted to study art. Flying out to see me the second I suggest wanting to see you. Cheersing to a second, third, forth glass of wine with our feet against a fireplace on a snowy evening. Blessing me when I summoned the courage to tell you I was gay. Abandoning any idea or wish for my endeavors, and investing simply in wanting me to be happy. Shedding endless tears for me when we have to hug goodbye.

That’s not spoiling. That’s love. Raw, unshakeable, unconditional, unfathomable love.

Mom, there is something I’ve never told you.

I have always had a dream for you. A dream of another life you could live.

Maybe it really was a past life for you, or maybe it’s a future life. But I haven’t told you, in fear that you won’t understand why I dream this.

In it, you are alone. Other than a dog, or a horse. You wander the rolling hills of some uninhabited land. Trees as large as buildings canopy over your path, filled with chirping birds and fluttering butterflies. You don’t ever know where you’re going, but you always sleep under stars that sparkle and sprint all over the horizon. You’ve made a small lyre and you let your voice ring out to every blessed animal near you. You’ve remembered every custom from your ancestors, and you feel their spirits guiding you whenever you’re afraid. In the spring, you make pillows out of flowers and drink dew from the grass. In winter, you find a cave and build beautiful fires. In summer, you always stumble upon the mountain streams that crystal and trickle. Perhaps you meet others in passing, and you grace them with wisdom and hugs. But in my dream, you live for yourself. You love for yourself. And you have fully realized the secret of life.

This dream isn’t because you are perceived as someone who wants to be alone. Nor because I wish you weren’t my mother.

This fantasy I have for you is because you deserve only beautiful, peaceful, and remarkable things. And I know the hardships you’ve faced with your own mother, and in being one to us. But for the biggest reason of all: you would reject my dream for you. Because we aren’t in it. You would chose a life with Kara and me, and all our hardships. That is how deep your love goes.

So please, sink into this lake. Let us re-gift your love to you. Know that you are seen and thanked for being who you are: my best friend, my greatest love, my Mom.