Mommy dearest.

Hands down, my worst fear has always been losing my mom.  I was a strange child and went through various  odd “phases” in which I obsessed over potentially cataclysmic events… such as immaculately conceiving a child, pooping my pants in public, or—worst of all—losing my mom.

True story: when I was around 8 or 9, my mom left me and my sister at home for a few minutes as she drove to the corner store, and my sister, who loved to torment me back then and knew I was obsessed with our mom, woke me up from my nap to let me know that “Mommy is gone.” Then she watched as I nearly flung myself off our third floor apartment’s balcony in a panic as my mom’s little blue Volkswagen disappeared around the corner.

Things have evened out since then.  I daresay I even went through a spell where I didn’t even LIKE my mom that much, as evidenced by the journal entry from eleven years ago I just found, in which terms like “dashing my hopes” and “ruining my happiness” may have been tossed around in relation to my mother.

But alas.  Things between us have now come to rest somewhere between potentially dangerous dependence and bitter disregard, and I’m happy to say that my mom is one of my very favorite people in the world.

And today is her birthday.

So, Mommy dearest, I just wanted to publicly profess my love for you and let you know that losing you is still a thing of my very worst nightmares.  I promise not to fling myself three stories to my death if you ever decide to go somewhere far away and not take me with you, but I certainly don’t like you any less than I once did.  I probably like you more now. 

Happy birthday.