Day 1 Draft 1

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There was a time when I would lay with my head in your lap, and you would stroke my hair and sing to me.  It was so long ago I cannot remember a single word, but I remember the melody.  Soft and sweet you would sing me to sleep.  I was your beloved, your son.  You held me in your arms and I was safe.  I was so safe, so happy, so content.  No one ever felt as loved as me.  You were my mother, and you would never leave me.

You were there to teach me how to ride a bike, and when I fell, you stood me up and brushed me off.  When I said I didn’t want to keep going, you told me I needed to, and that you would be there to pick me up when I fell again.  Begrudgingly I got back on, again and again, until I stopped falling.  I don’t know that I ever thanked you, but I knew you were proud.  You were my mother, and you would never leave me.

You were there in middle school when I failed my English class.  You told me I couldn’t go to camp because I needed to go to summer school.  I was mad and I yelled at you and Dad, but you told me I had to be responsible for my actions.  I finished summer school and passed the class. But I never went back to camp and I would never admit that you were right.  You were my mother, and you would never leave me.

When I became ill you were the one who took me to the doctor.  When I couldn’t get out of bed, you stayed home and looked after me.  You and Dad sat in the hospital with me while they hooked me up to the iv, and while they ran their tests.  And when I was finally healthy again you celebrated with me.  But the whole time I never realized quite how much it had been hurting you too.  You were my mother, and you would never leave me. 

Then college came. I grew up and moved on.  My emails and calls became less frequent, as the years went by.  After my sophomore year I was spending my summers in Chicago in an apartment down the street from my campus.  My senior year I had a chance to study abroad in Barcelona.  I never came back.  But you were my mother, and you would never leave me.

The day came when the boxes with all my things arrived; cardboard boxes covered in our home address, postage, and red stamps in all caps that read fragile.  My teddy bear, my blanket, and my tattered old poster of Omar Vizquel. I left it all in boxes in my storage space downstairs. These were all part of my childhood and I had grown up.  You were a part of my childhood and I had grown up.  But you were my mother, and you would never leave me.

Then I met her, she was beautiful and brilliant.  Her name was Maria, and she was very much like you.  We spent all of our time together and decided to elope, I wrote you and Dad from the honeymoon, to let you know.  You wrote back how happy for us you were and how proud.  I knew that it must have hurt you, so I didn’t even save the letter.  But you were my mother, and you would never leave me.

When I heard that you were dying I was on the first flight home, but I didn’t make it in time.  When I got to the hospital you were covered with a sheet.  Everyone left the two of us alone, and I dropped to my knees and wept. I was there when they lowered you into the ground, and I asked dad if I could give the Eulogy.  He told me I could, he was never a man of many words. But it didn’t do you credit, no words ever could. You were my mother, and you never left me.