Week 11: My Mom

This is my mother. Her name is Gina; you can call her that. I've been nervous to write this entry (one of the reasons it's a week late), because all I can think about is, how does one go about summing up their mother? How could I ever be a good enough writer to convey who my she is and how much she means to me? She's got so many layers I could write a novel about her! Just when I think I know what she would say in a certain scenario, or how she would respond to something life throws at her, she surprises me.

My mother is the most amazing woman I know. She's so complex, wise, strong, honest and beautiful. She has overcome many obstacles that I can't even imagine trying to fight through. She has raised four children, who in my opinion, have done some great things because she has supported us.

Here are some things I remember about my mother from when I was a child. She taught me how to sew. She used to quietly sing along to Willie Nelson when we were driving in the car. She used to write me cards and postcards when I was at my dad's house during the summers. She always made me tuck in my shirt when I was in elementary school. She used to make breakfast for dinner sometimes. We used to have to drop my sister off at band practice early in the morning, then we would go get a donut and listen to the oldies station until it was time for me to go to school. I always sat next to her on the couch. My mother had high expectations of me, because she always wanted me to have a good life.

Now, as an adult, I understand that my mother always wanted the best for me. She wanted me to be happy and it broke her heart every time I felt pain. She wanted to protect me, yet also let me discover the world on my own. I've learned so much from her, and her life, and I'm so grateful that I have a mother that loves me so unconditionally.

I could never tell my her enough how much I love and appreciate everything she's done for me. I hope, somehow, she just knows it.

**This is part of the 52 portraits series**