31 Letters To My Mother {Day 2} daughters and forgiveness

Dear Mom,

The house is quiet right now, everyone is tucked in, warm and peaceful in their beds. All except Kel who went back to work to paint a banner of a Tiger that also looks like Clark Kent / Superman.  Life is funny, eh?

I love the evening quiet, it’s such an ordeal to get Noelle down to sleep each night.  She pops up again and again with ridiculous requests.  Tonight I grimaced as I realized how often I did the exact same thing to you and Dad.

I remember creeping down the stairs to the basement and sit on the top steps for a while watching you both.  I’d sit there in my care bear PJs for long stretches before nagging you to come up stairs and turn over the tape in my fire engine red boom box.

I wanted to avoid bed as long as possible back then.  Now, as the mama I can’t wait to crawl between my sheets and drift off.  Oh irony, thy name is motherhood, at least sometimes.

Noelle’s a lot like me, you know, full of energy and short on focus. She keeps me on my toes from the moment she wakes up until I realize that she’s finally drifted off to sleep.

I love her, but she seems to sweetly demand all of me.  All of my grace, patience, attention and energy.  But God, I love her Mom. Through parenting her, I’ve found grace for you. Hindsight can be mean like that.

I yelled at her today, grabbed her arm harder than necessary.  I was drained and exhausted and before I realized what I was doing, I’d handed her the brunt of it.

Only moments later I scooped her up and apologized, receiving a bounty of grace from her deep brown eyes and forgiveness from her lips.  Grace, childlike and sweet.  For now, available to me readily for the price of an embrace and an apology.

It won’t always be like this, will it?  She will make me work harder for forgiveness, maybe she will be angry with me, blame me for her inner struggles.

I think I’ll drift off tonight imagining our moment of reconciliation, in some far off land where you’re both whole and alive. We could scoop each other up as we weep, apologize and release our mother / daughter shortcomings.

I think we could both float away after that embrace like that.

Love you, miss you,


  • Lisa

    I don’t have kids yet but the more I get older in general I realize a lot more about who my Mom is and why she is the way she is. I also realize that I am her too. It’s odd that it takes us so long to grasp this. I think it’s really not that we realize that we are our mom’s, it’s that we learn who we are, not who we think we are at 18.

  • http://twitter.com/Vaderalman Mark Allman (@Vaderalman)

    “Hindsight can be mean like that.” Great words here. I call my mom everyday and try to give her some time with me I know she desperately wants. I wish that I also wanted it like that everyday and wish more people wanted to spend time with me like my mom does.

  • http://www.thetransgentlewife.com Lucy

    You write so beautifully. My mother has Alzheimers and it’s hard to sit with her knowing she doesn’t know who I am. Yet I do sit with her and hold her hand silently giving her my forgiveness and silently asking for the same. Thank you for sharing your words.
    Visiting from 31 Dayers 2012

  • Hannah