It'a rare Friday post!
Today happens to be a very special day. Why? Well...
You have always been there for me. I know I wasn't the easiest child. No, I didn't party, and I didn't get drunk or do drugs at all, but I was a loner and depressed and I know I worried you a lot. And then there were all those times I ran out into the scrub bare foot... You were right to get mad at me about that. It's a wonder I'm still alive really.
FYI kids, don't go running through the Australian scrub with no shoes on. There are snakes and spiders that can kill you quick smart.
Whenever I did anything creative, you always treated it like it was something special, even when it was utter crap. When I started sharing my writing, you patiently listened to me reading out the first idiotic attempts at a story. You smiled and told me it was wonderful.
You lied. It wasn't. But I appreciate it all the same.
Without your support I would never have felt confident enough to embark on this ridiculous quest of trying to become a full-time novelist.
Even now, when I'm a woman grown, I still love to hear you exclaim 'It's wonderful!' Even if I don't think it is. Even now, when I'm a woman grown, you there with your invisible pompoms cheering me on.
It means the world to me.
All those attempts you made to help me through a difficult adolescence, all those small praises, all the hugs and the giggles, the talks and the silences together mean the world to me. I would not be here, and this happy, and this determined (bloody-minded?) without you.
I owe you the world.
I love you so much, and I am so grateful.
Someone upstairs did something right when they decided to put you in the world.
Happy Birthday, Mum.
I love you.