Today is my mom's birthday. I wanted to tell her happy birthday and that she is the best. She opened her present on Christmas Eve, but I wanted write this to tell her what she means to me.
Dad became sick in the early 80's. My parents got divorced after the hell of mental illness took it's toll on the sick and those that care for them. She sheilded me from the maddening saddness of his sickness and raised me almost totally by herself. Our family struggled through money problems, lost jobs and all the rest that single parenting brings, but I never felt we were poor. She worked hard and did her best and I want to thank her for it. I look back on my childhood and remember nothing but happiness and peace.
As a teenager, I was a lost kid, but she still loved me and her caring kept me from becoming a lost man. Learning the extent of my dad's illness and experiencing the effects of it as an adult shook me and made me realize how hard it must have been on her. She still is there for my dad and helps take care of him. My father's sister calls her a saint.
Twenty-six years after we first met she is still there for me. She did a good job.
She is a saint and I hope she is happy on her birthday.
Love,
Your Son
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