My mother died when I was 18 years old.
We were just beginning to know each other as adults, finally leaving behind the drama of my adolescence and the tedium of childhood. On the cusp of now turning 36, there is so much my mother didn’t get to see me do. In the years since she died I have graduated college, seen my name in print as a journalist, earned a masters degree, gotten married, published a book and given birth to two daughters, all without her here to witness.
Now that I’m in my 30s I have more of an understanding than ever about what it means to be a daughter, and here’s what I wish I could tell my mother.
You knew me so much better than I ever gave you credit for.
In those last years before you were gone, I tried to conceal everything from the pain of boyfriend break-ups to how I felt about your cancer, but you always saw right through me. Sometimes it seemed like you knew what I was feeling before I even did. And even though I often pretended that you were wrong, it secretly made me feel good that you were right.
I thought you were so much cooler than I ever let on.
I know I cringed when you would sometimes turn up the music and dance in the living room, but it was only because I was too insecure to actually join you. I know I told you occasionally that your outfits were weird, but really, I admired your audacious style and flair for the dramatic. And sometimes I thought it was annoying that we literally couldn't get through a trip to the grocery store without you making a new friend along the way, but I was just jealous of your ability to be so open with people.