I had felt love before and thought I understood its depths. Love for my family, my friends, my husband, my shoes; all of these are technically “love,” but in slightly different variations. I experienced a kind of love I never knew existed the moment Lily was born. During my pregnancy, I loved this tiny being inside of me, anticipated her birth, imagined and dreamed about meeting her. But I never could have prepared for this overwhelming love. Holding her for the first time, I realized that I was cradling a physical manifestation of my heart and soul. This kind of love is incredible, unexplainable, inexplicable.
Her birth also made me realize another truth. Until that moment, I had never fully grasped how much my own mom loves me. I am my mom’s heart and soul; someone she dreamed about, hoped and prayed for, someone who made her experience a kind of love she had never fathomed.
This awareness floors me. We were both 25 years old when our first daughters were born. We both had dreams of our own, men we had chosen to marry, and the desire to grow a family. The parallels are somewhat boggling and put an interesting perspective on our relationship.
To my own mom, I feel the need to say thank you for giving me the world even though I demanded every minute of your time, every strand of your energy and every ounce of your patience.
I want to say I’m sorry for the not-so-smart decisions I made growing up and for the regrettable things I put you through.
But more than anything, I want to say I love you. As a mother myself, I have been given the gift of experiencing this kind of love, and finally comprehend what this actually means. I love you!