My mom has always called me her angel child. Why? Because when my parents had my older brother they both decided they wouldn’t have any more kids until they were married, and then I came along. I have two siblings and was the only one not planned. But I know my mom and I both can’t imagine a world where the two of us didn’t have each other.
My parents told me they were getting a divorce when I was in third grade. I didn’t know it at the time, but this would be one of the many life lessons my mom would teach me. The thing about my mom is she doesn’t teach me these things by outright saying them. She teaches me these lessons by just being herself. She taught me that being a strong, independent woman was a trait I’d need to be successful in life, to stand up for what I believe in, always demand better and if someone isn’t treating me for what I’m worth, leave.
I learned all of this by watching her grow as a person. Of course my mom watched me grow, but I got to watch her grow, too. I watched her strive for a better job, travel across the world to teach at the Singapore American School, and become a Cognitive Coaching Training Associate. But most importantly, I watched her become the best single mother three kids could ever ask for.
She did all the mom things. She cooked dinner, drove me to and from every soccer practice, and took care of me when I was sick. When I broke my collar bone in fifth grade she waited on me hand and foot until I was able to do things on my own again. She never missed anything. She was at every soccer game, track meet and stupid chorus concert or school play I preformed in during middle school. She was there when I needed a ride home from a party. She was there when I made mistakes and cried to her, and when I accomplished something that I had been working towards and wanted to celebrate. She was at my graduation, crying of course. She was there when I checked my phone to see if I got admitted into my dream university. And she was there to drop me off four hours away from home at my dorm room, both of us crying this time.
But, my mom isn’t just my best friend because she does all these things for me. I’m fortunate that she does, but it isn’t what sets us apart from everyone else. She’s my best friend because of the honest, real friendship we have. We tell each other everything. And I mean everything. She knows about the boy I’m talking to while I’m at school and who I yelled at for going 5mph under the speed limit while on my way to class (I got my driving skills from her, by the way). And I know when she’s had the shittiest day of her life and who she got dinner with last weekend. If we go one day without talking to each other I can expect a text from her saying “We haven’t talked all day. That’s not okay!”
We laugh together and we cry together. We’re there for each other during our hardest times with a shoulder to cry on. When my grandpa passed away this December we were lying in her bed together talking about how surreal it was when she suddenly started crying. Mid-cry she looked at me and said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to be so strong for everyone.” This is how I know that it isn’t just a cliche when I say my mom is my best friend. We can be weak in front of each other. We turn to each other when we feel alone or like we just can’t be strong anymore. I’ll always be there for her, and she’ll always be there for me. She’s my rock, and I’m hers. My mom is my best friend.
Image credit: Ayveri lane