43 Reasons

When I was 1, my mother held me in her arms and rocked me to sleep.

When I was 2, she continued to update my baby book faithfully.

When I was 3, she told me I was going to be a big sister.

When I was 4, she treated me to sweet, milky coffee, just like Daddy drank.

When I was 5, she rode the school bus to kindergarten with me almost every single day because I was too scared to go by myself.

When I was 6, I ran off the stage and into her open arms after the little girl standing beside me in the church play refused to hold my hand.

When I was 7, my mother visited the school superintendent and advocated for me and 2 other students to be tested as gifted. No such program existed at my school, since we children who lived in the nearby housing project "typically had no need for it."

When I was 8, I watched her break up a neighbor's domestic squabble by brandishing a Bible in the offender's face.

When I was 9, she let me pick out a new outfit at Kmart with some of the tax refund money. I saw another girl at school wearing the same thing, and she and I became best friends.

When I was 10, she took me to the Tennessee School of Beauty for my first perm.

When I was 11, my mother fainted in the kitchen as the paramedics asked for my late father's personal information. She quickly stood up and continued the business at hand.

When I was 12, she spent a small fortune buying Diet Sprite, just because drinking it made me feel "fancy" while lounging at the neighborhood pool.

When I was 13, she worked a second job at McDonald's and snuck home the leftover McRibs.

When I was 14, she pretended that she didn't know me, at my request, because I was embarrassed that she was a lunchlady at my high school.

When I was 15, she bought me a used bass from a pawn shop because I thought I was a musical genius. (I was not.)

When I was 16, she let me throw a disco party in our trailer. She made sure we had good snacks and plenty of space to be teenagers.

When I was 17, our A/C was busted on the day of prom. Before Mom left for work that morning, she closed all the blinds and blasted the fans, so I would be as cool as possible while getting dressed.

When I was 18, she didn't get angry with me when I admitted to her that I had purposely stopped going to class. The bigness of college scared me and I was too depressed to ask for help until I had flunked some classes.

When I was 19, she helped pay for gas. This was after I found a second college, in Kentucky, that I loved, but still wanted to spend the weekends in Knoxville.

When I was 20, my mom brought our relatives to Kentucky to watch me perform onstage in my college theatre.

When I was 21, I had to drop out of school due to an extended lung illness. To calm my anxiety, she played endless hands of gin rummy with me as I healed.

When I was 22, she became my makeup guinea pig when I started working for Clinique.

When I was 23, I moved into my first apartment. She still let me use her washer and dryer.

When I was 24, she prepared a huge spread of biscuits and gravy, fried potatoes, and fresh tomatoes for a group of my friends, just because they wanted to get to know her better.

When I was 25, I decided to return to school to finish my degree. I asked her if I could move back in while I did so. She said that I could.

When I was 26, a man broke my heart, and I sobbed in her lap while she plotted revenge.

When I was 27, she encouraged me to take a chance on a fast-paced, glamorous job with MAC Cosmetics in Atlanta. (I lasted a year.)

When I was 28, she often visited me from 90 minutes away in Athens when I began to suffer panic attacks.

When I was 29, she helped me tour wedding venues.

When I was 30, she wouldn't stop taking pictures.

When I was 31, she took me to see The Tree That Owns Itself and bought me lunch every time I drove to visit her.

When I was 32, she walked me down the aisle. When our pastor asked, "Who gives this woman to be married?" my mother replied, "She gives herself, because she doesn't belong to me or anyone else."

When I was 33, we talked on the phone every day.

When I was 34, we went for a ride in my new Ford Fiesta and yelled things out the window.

When I was 35, she colored my gigantic pile of thick, wavy hair on Thanksgiving.

When I was 36, she gave me seed money to start a volunteer litter cleanup project. Later on, my husband and I were nominated for a local award because of it.

When I was 37, she sent me pictures of the flowers she had planted with my sister.

When I was 38, a woman received the news at my workplace that her son had died by suicide. I was inconsolable. My mother prayed for me over the phone, until I felt peace.

When I was 39, she gave me the opportunity to hone my advocacy skills and strive to create dignity and equity for her and others.

When I was 40, she told me to make sure I used some of her money to buy myself a birthday present.

When I was 41, she waved from her window at me, bravely surviving 467 days without hugging any member of her family, because of the pandemic.

When I was 42, we sang, “Amazing Grace” together as I pushed her around outside in her chair.

When I was 43, she thanked me for taking care of her and told her that she loved me. It was enough, and it was everything.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama. I love you.