Last year, I wrote an especially sappy article about the joys of female friendship. It was cathartic, grounding, and truly a piece that I needed to write. I am the kind of person who gets lost in the moment, whether it be how I am feeling, an impending assignment I am stressing about, or the million things I must do in this very moment to prepare for my future. In doing so, I sometimes lose sight of the beautiful things I am blessed to have every single day. Writing that article opened my eyes to the moments and people often taken for granted or overlooked when we get wrapped up in the stresses of our lives.
So, to further bring myself back to reality and focus on the good, I’ve decided to write a bookend to that piece. Only this time, I’m focusing on the two pillars who have held up my life since I couldn’t physically do so: my parents.
My parents are honest, genuine, and kind people. They are a little crazy — and somehow get more so by the minute — but they have shaped me into the person I am today. My dad instilled in me a great amount of patience, integrity, and a painfully dry sense of humor. My mom taught me more about life than I can measure, gave me my backbone, and provided me with my best friend.
Parents come in all shapes and sizes. Not all are biological, and not all are even called “parents.” I have had parental figures in a myriad of different forms: teachers, siblings, coaches, friends’ parents, grandparents — you name it. We have all had someone we look up to who has changed our lives for the better, in ways both big and small. They contributed to everything in the present through all that they have done and continue to do. When you really think about it, we are all walking mosaics of the people who loved us into who we are.
My dad is not exactly what you would call a stereotypical “girl dad.” He shies away from conversations about boys or tampons, but runs to be a shoulder for me to endlessly cry on. I’ll never forget the rough summer I was having a year ago, full of boy troubles, heartbreak, college changes, and usual 19-year-old end-of-the-world problems. In my typical fashion, I was emotional and, frankly, not the easiest person to be around. It was a warm night in the middle of July, and we were visiting the town he grew up in. We made one of our typical 10 p.m. ice cream runs to Carvel, but this time we took the long way home, driving with the windows down, passing landmarks marked by the stories of his rebellious teenage years. We ended up at a beach he used to frequent. He insisted I get out of the car, and in my cranky state, I reluctantly followed. But soon enough, I found myself sitting there eating my ice cream, feeling the cool ocean breeze, and looking up at the stars as my dad pointed out constellations I would have never guessed he knew. It was quiet, simple, and unassuming, but I had never needed something like that more in my life.
Good parents have a superpower. They know what you need in a specific moment, even when you don’t have the words to name it. Moms can place where the singular sock you lost a week ago is without hesitation, and dads know precisely when a much-needed ice cream run is in order. I am fortunate enough to still have the two parents who raised me, so they’ve been tending to my needs since before I could verbalize them. At this point, it seems that identifying and caring for their children’s needs is innate. They know what I am short of before I do, they can see what I am feeling when I lack the language to describe it, and it seems that they know the remedy for every problem I encounter.
My mom is the closest thing to steel you can get, but not in the way you might think. I have watched her go through battle after battle, persevering through more challenges across my adolescence than most experience in a lifetime. Despite that, she has somehow remained the most present, attentive, and loving mother imaginable. From fighting cancer — and winning — to surviving near-death incidents, she was still there for every soccer game, every school pickup, every 6-year-old girl meltdown, and every goodnight. Even on her worst day, she loved me no less. Her “I love my children” smile stays consistently on brand 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. She shows up for her children beyond belief and performs any act of kindness with the exact same level of care and intention. That’s the beautiful thing about a mother’s love. It is consistent, unwavering, and unbelievably attentive.
Parents aren’t simply moms and dads, and they certainly are not always biological. If you’re lucky, you get one parental figure who demonstrates a kind of love you carry with you for the rest of your life. If you’re even luckier, you get more. It might be present in teachers, coaches, aunts, uncles, siblings, or grandparents. For me, that love extends beyond my parents to my grandmother, who is quite literally my favorite person on the planet. She is the kindest, funniest, most generous, gracious, and elegant woman I know. She always has a smile on her face and a way of making everyone around her feel important.
A grandparent’s love is unconditional and unique. They care gently and quietly, making their presence the most cherished feeling imaginable. I spent this past summer with her, and beyond our mutual adoration for shopping and clothes, we got to spend critical quality time together. One of my favorite traditions was our nightly Jeopardy competitions. Neither of us was particularly good, and collectively, we got about five questions correct per hour-long program. It was a small daily practice, but its simplicity brought us both an immeasurable amount of pure joy in each other’s company. That’s another part of the beauty of parental love: it can be found in routine and daily habits, but the quality of that time spent matters more than any gift, holiday, or special occasion. We both looked forward to it to conclude our days, and nothing brings me more happiness than knowing that our shared time was a piece of her day that she cherished. I’ve noticed that about grandparents; it’s as if they have mastered that appreciation of seemingly small moments that young people like me might fail to prioritize or treasure. My grandma, especially, recognizes every minor detail. Even if she might forget it five seconds later, you can practically see every ounce of her emotions or appreciation in a given instant. She taught me that strength can be quiet, that humor is essential, and that love does not need to be loud to be deeply felt.
When I reflect on the small joys in my life, from the late-night drives, the unwavering smiles, to the people who showed up again and again, I am reminded that love is rarely found in grand gestures. More often, it lives in the ordinary moments we might otherwise overlook. And especially, it is found in the people we might fail to remind of our appreciation. Love by those who have always been there for you doesn’t always seem so shiny, new, or special. We get so used to it that we take it for granted, so this is my reminder to acknowledge those who raised me, lifted my spirits in times of trouble, and fostered my growth across time. I consider this a love letter to all the parental figures who have graced my life. To the people who held my hand before I could walk alone, who believed in me before I believed in myself, and who loved me through every version of who I have been, and every version I am still becoming.
If you are lucky enough to still have the people who raised you, or those who continue to add to your daily growth, remind them what they mean to you. Call them. Hug them longer. Say thank you more often than feels necessary. One day, you will realize that the small moments were never small at all. And if I become even half the person they are, I will consider that one of the greatest successes of my life.