That One Who Is Mine

Mom.

There is only one. It’s true.

And there is nothing that fills my heart more than being that one for someone else.

That one. Just one. Only one. You want her all to yourself.

That one you come to understand and admire even more with the years.

That one with whom conversations move between two mature women, and between a little girl and her mother, no matter your age.

That one who asks how you are, not your children, not your husband: you.

That one with whom you can talk about yourself for hours, without rush, without pretending interest in the other person.

That one your childhood best friend speaks of with so much love.

That one who taught you the magic of feeling like the mother of your friends’ daughters without even knowing them.

That one you now look at with compassion, with empathy.

That one who made mistakes and apologized.

That one who opened the path so I can now make my mistakes and apologize.

That one who taught me that motherhood is imperfect; you don’t fail, you learn, you redirect, and love only grows stronger.

That one I now look at up close. That one I now search for. That one I now need close to me.

That one who is mine, only mine.