I started this series thinking it was going to be something entirely different. I guess that no matter what it looks like on the outside, the writing process is always the same. You start out thinking you’re in control of where you’re headed, only to realize along the way you’re somehow somewhere entirely different. And that’s OK.
I am loved.
I was loved in the womb. I was loved before I was conceived. I was dreamed about even before my parents met. My mother knew about me before I became a possibility. Where I dream of finding true love, the man I want to share this life with, my mother had a dream of me.
If there has ever been a love that is uplifting, this is it. Mom has read to me when I couldn’t read. She translated stories, when I didn’t understand the language. When I wanted to date a guy she didn’t really like, she was the one who helped me sneak out the door so my dad wouldn’t find out. When I was so depressed I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t face the night alone, she held me. And prayed for me. And rocked me back to sleep.
When I came home with a stray kitten, she overcame her fear of cats and gave it a home. And then again when I brought a second one. When I announced that I was quitting my job and selling everything to move to a foreign country, across an ocean, she was the first to say ‘I’ll help you pack’. No questions asked.
She’d never ask me to stay where I don’t belong. She’d rather let me go.
My mom sees me. And she loves me anyway.