Dear Mom,

Sometimes, I wish we could go back, way back, to the nights when we read the children’s book, “Guess How Much I Love You,” in preschool and kindergarten. You held me tight in your arms. “I love you as deep as the ocean,” you’d say. I wish we could go back to the times you told me not to take myself so seriously, to smile more, breathe more and to stop and look around. Sometimes, I wish we could go back to the days you clutched my hand and told me that whatever happens in life, we’re going to be OK. Accept what happens and don’t run away from it.

But more so, I wish we could go back to the times when I owed you an apology, and a thank you. I regret arguing with you. I regret telling you to “be quiet” or “calm down” when you complained about working long hours, or having a bad day at work, or paying the bills as a single mother. I regret sometimes being a punk, stealing cash from your purse, ignoring and speaking over you. I’m sorry for bringing back a few C’s and D’s at college. I’m sorry for not understanding more, appreciating more and loving more.

I need to tell you, now: I’m sorry, and thank you. You taught me how to love with all of my heart and how to give life everything I’ve got. You’ve made me who I am more than you’ll ever know. You tell me time and again that I have “a heart of gold.” The thing is, that’s you. That’s your heart. Our heart.

This one’s for you, mom — for your indomitable spirit, perseverance and kindness. I wouldn’t be here without the guiding light you are, the person I call in times of joy, and in times of panic. You appreciate people for what strength they do have, and you pick out the beautiful parts of the world and try to push the negative stuff away.

Courtesy of Matthew Gutierrez

Remember, a few weeks ago, when you came to visit? I felt like I needed you. I was having trouble falling asleep. I was worried about graduating on time, life going by too fast, not being confident enough, not enjoying the world enough. As you went home, I took out my phone.

“Makes me cry, all you’ve been through & done for me,” I texted you. “The gift that keeps on giving. Xo. Hope we can see each other often, forever.”

“I only reflect back what you serve back,” you wrote. “Life is a banter. We get what we give. And we give what we get. Life is a mirror.”

You, mom, are the best mirror I could imagine.

On your birthday last year, I wrote in your card that we’d promise to choose happiness together. Which is why it pained me to see you stressed and tired — phone in hand, legal pad out, hand in your hair — upset about your life and work. I wrote in my journal after one of those days last year: “It was really hard coming home last Wednesday with my mom stressed from her job. I broke down in front of her in my bedroom and asked where she went. I was so frustrated in that moment, and the days prior, with how she behaved and sounded on the phone.”

Looking back, I’m sorry I shushed you when you complained about your job. I should have been there and empathized the way you empathize for me. You’re the reason I reach for my phone and always have someone to call.

I’ll remember the Sunday night years ago when I called you, my eyes wet, because I was lonely and depressed at Syracuse. Or the day when we were on the couch, me crying in your arms, because I was upset with myself for lacking confidence. I remember one day I did thank you for your unconditional love. You said: “I love you, so it is a joy to give you everything I can to make your life as wonderful as possible.”

Courtesy of Matthew Gutierrez

Sometimes, when I go to call you, I think about how you lost your mom when you were 11, survived breast cancer and raised me while managing teams of people at work. Through it all, you found the strength to persist. You have inspired me like you inspired yourself.

You’re a great hugger. You’re the one worrying about everyone else, the one sending checks to people who could use them and picking up the phone to hear them. You don’t know how many of your friends and former colleagues have told me about the depth of the respect they have for you. And, you see, I can’t think of a time you lied to me. Not once. Integrity at its best.

A few years ago, as a high school senior anxious about starting college, I wanted you to accompany me during my first appointment with a therapist. When I explained to the therapist what mattered to me, I broke down in tears because I thought about you, all that you had done for me, what you stand for and how much you empower me. I thought about your life and how beautiful a job you did at being mom. My mom. That I can never repay.

Love,

Matthew

Matthew Gutierrez was a senior staff writer at The Daily Orange, where his column will no longer appear. He can be reached at mguti100@syr.edu and on Twitter @Matthewgut21.

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Published on April 24, 2019 at 9:53 pm