I read this note every Mother’s day, and also when I need to remember what it means to love and be loved. I will have it at my deathbed if I’m lucky enough to choose that. It’s a note from Griffin when he was six years old, a note that he slipped onto my bedside table quietly after standing by my bedside crying, saying he had a question that he was too scared to ask. It says: “Will I remember this life? I really want to remember you.”
I know that I did nothing to deserve this type of love, and plenty to undeserve it. And when I saw him today, and thanked him for helping make me a mother, maybe I was trying to thank him for making me lovable even in my most unloveable moments, by bringing out the true best in me and making me face my true worst with courage. And helping me know how to love others, and how we are all worthy somehow. And that we are all parenting each other in this way: by being people for each other that we want to remember.
So thanks to everyone who has parented me, and helped me be a parent, and may we all continue to parent each other into the type of existence we can be proud of, and tender with, and soft in our growing. I really want to remember you.