(See video below)
Mom was twenty when I was born—twenty times as old as me. But when I turned ten, I suddenly realized she was now only three times as old as me. And when I reached
twenty she would only be two times as old as me. “Heck,” I thought, “soon she’ll be younger than me!” Yeah, I know. I sucked at math.
By the time I got to college I’d figured it out: Mom would always be exactly twenty years older than me. Period. More importantly, she would always have twenty years more life experience.
It’s like hiking with a tall friend: You come to a fork in the road, behind which is a hill obstructing your view. You can’t see what the two paths do beyond the hill, so how can you choose which one to take? You ask your tall friend who can see beyond the hill. From there, it was just a short trip to realize that…
My mom was still experiencing new things. When I was six, she was busy learning to be the mother of a six year old. And when I was sixteen, she was busy learning to be (survive being?) the mother of a sixteen year old–not to mention processing all the other stuff life throws at a thirty-something year old woman.
That was when my perspective on Mother’s Day changed. It wasn’t just a celebration of who my mom was, it was a celebration of who she was becoming. The only thing that remained the same was her love. That was there from start to finish.
Mom passed away, but I still remember who she was, who she was becoming, and the fact that she always loved me.
And that inspired a short play, I Always Knew You Loved Me, about a trio of young adults and their three seemingly unrelated stories. If you’d like to read it—or if you’re with a drama group that might like to perform it—click here.
I also made a 4 1/2 minute film from the same script. You can watch the video by clicking on the image below.
I love you, Mom. Every version of you. And I’m glad I never caught up with you. I mean, who wants to be older than their mom, right?
Happy Mother’s Day!