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A letter to my mom...

Dear Mom:

It seems like only yesterday that I was 12 and you were at home; I remember walking back from school, shuffling my feet through the crayon colored leaves.

The sky was a bright, periwinkle blue and inside our house it smelled like cinnamon and spices.

That memory — the aroma of your baking, coupled with the crisp, fall air — is forever burned into my brain; something I won’t forget.

I love you.

I remember snuggling in your lap, listening to you read Dr. Suess. And even though I racked up thousands of dollars in library fines, you just smiled, paid the bill, and helped me pick out another book.

They could have named the library after us.

You’ve always been there.

Even when I tried to run.

The years have passed quickly, too quickly. And now, so much has changed. Karen and I struggle with the same issues that you and Dad did.

I look for guidance. I pray for wisdom and I hope.

And I wonder if I’ll be half as good a parent as you and Dad are.

This Sunday is Mother’s Day and the keepers of our society remind us that on this day we’re supposed to pause and honor our mother. Sure there are cards and flowers and stuff, but they really don’t express how I feel.

So, I thought I’d write you this letter.

(Please keep in mind that it’s also being read by about 50,000 of my closest friends.)

I know we don’t always agree, but I do want you to know just how much I love and respect you.

You taught me how to cook.

You read to me for hours.

And you wouldn’t let the mean kids hurt me.

You have always placed others above yourself.

I remember you comforting a total stranger at a hospital — she’d just lost her grandfather. You never told her that you were there, at that same hospital, because Grandma Carter had just died.

I watched you stand up for me and my high school friends against a group of angry school board members; we managed to disrupt the school for several days because we wanted to wear our hair long.

You talked to them about letting high schoolers make some decisions about their own lives.

And you reminded them that if we didn’t learn now, it would be rougher later on.

Funny thing, too, they listened to you when they wouldn’t hear us.

Later, I was amazed when you decided to return to school and get your GED. That amazement grew 10-fold when you announced you’d enrolled at Oklahoma State — at the ripe ol’ age of 53.

Mom, believe it or not, they still tell stories on campus of the Crusin’ Grandma.

I still chuckle thinking of all your “artistic” friends: The punker, the biker chick and that weird, skinny kid with the long hair who liked to cut paper.

And I know very few college students ever spent a cold, misty December day sitting at Eskimo Joes, drinking a beer with their mother.

Oh yeah, thanks for buying.

I've listened to you sing, saw you cry and been in awe of your talent with the paint brush. My favorite painting — done by you — still hangs proudly over our couch.

I could fill page upon page with stories and memories about you, but they would have meaning only to you and I. So, instead, I’ll just remind you that I love you, dearly.

Lately, as I’ve gotten older — and yes, believe me 44 feels old — I have come to realize just how wonderful you are.

So I wanted to say it just one more time: I love you.

Know that wherever I am, and whatever I do, I think of you. Often I find my self turning down some offer or doing something different, simply because I know my mom would want me to.

And you said I didn’t listen.

So, happy Mother’s Day.

May you find as much happiness today as you’ve brought to me in my lifetime.

Respectfully,

Your third son, M. Scott.

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