Before You Were My Mom

I have been thinking about the girl you were, long before there was a mother anywhere in the picture.

She sat somewhere with a dream she had not said out loud to anyone. She had a favourite song, a way of laughing, a list of things she wanted that had nothing to do with me. And then, one day, I turned up and she became the person who knew where everything was.

That is the only version of you I ever met.

You came to me finished, like a house I was born into. I never wondered who built it. I never asked what the builder gave up to get the roof on. Children do not keep that kind of account. We see the dinner on the table and think dinner is simply something that happens.

I am older now. I stand in my own kitchen with my own small worries, and I finally understand how much goes on behind a calm face. The fear that gets folded away before anyone wakes up. The sums done late at night. The tiredness that learns to smile.

So here is what I would ask you, if you would sit with me for one long afternoon.

I would ask what made you laugh at fifteen. The real laugh, the one that bent you over.

I would ask what you wanted. Even if the answer is small. A quiet room. A job you loved. A different city. A year that belonged only to you.

I would ask what you put down so that you could pick me up. I know you did. I did not see it, because you did it quietly, and because nobody taught me to look for it.

I would ask whether you were afraid. All those times you said "don't worry, it's handled." I would like to know what it cost to say that so steadily.

And I would ask who you were when no one needed anything from you. I think I would like her. I think I would admire her even more than I admire the mother, and that is saying a great deal.

Here is the thing I want you to hear, in case I am bad at saying it later.

I love you for everything you did for me, and I love you for the whole person standing behind it. A history, a sense of humour, opinions I have not heard yet, a corner of yourself you have kept private for decades. You were someone all along, and I am sorry it took me this long to notice.

If I could go back, I would ask you about her sooner. I would let the afternoon run long. I would let you talk about the song, the city, the dream, for as long as you liked, and I would listen like it was the most interesting story in the world.

It is.

So let me start now. Tell me about the girl.