Dear Mom

She Made Me Brave, I’ll Make Her Proud Dear Mom I feel you laughing from above, Still shaking your head at the daughter you love. The girl who hated pearls and lace, And wore old jeans with pride and grace. We fought each Sunday, dress or skirt— You’d plead, I’d groan, your feelings hurt. But heartbreak taught me something true, And oddly, Mom, it came from who? An ex who broke, then lit the flame— Now dresses thrill instead of shame. Fit and flare, in body-con bliss, A silhouette I almost missed. I wear heels now—they look divine, But klutziness makes them misalign. I trip and slip in glamour’s name, So boots still hold my claim to fame. I’m trying, Mom, to make this right, To build a dream and hold it tight. I’m planning out a shop with care, Where bath soaks bloom and stories share. I’m writing books I think you’d read, The kind of tales we used to heed. You’d gather us, each face aglow, Around your chair, the stories flowed. You gave each voice a hint of grace, And read like time could not erase. I chase that magic, pen in hand— To build the books you’d understand. Whispers of the Tide feels bold and true, Like Mandie once was, just for you. And The Hidden Turncoat, bold and sly, A patriot soul beneath Loyalist sky. Her name unknown, her truths profound, In columns where her voice is found. They think her soft, no cause for dread, A harmless girl—at least in their head. But ink and whispers pass the flame, A rebel cloaked in history’s name. Inspired by shows we used to see, Like Liberty’s Kids and history. But this time, Mom, the girl’s the lead— Not cheering war, but hearts in need. I hope you look down, beam with pride, And whisper, that’s my girl, with joy inside. I wear your name like threads of gold, A story inked but never old. The three small hearts you left behind, Still hold your love in every bind. The youngest never knew your face, But in his fire, I see your grace. We miss you more than words can show, We feel you everywhere we go. Above my bed your photo stays, A Christmas smile from gentler days. I talk to you when night is still, And say the things I always will. I miss your voice, your fire, your fight— Even when we didn’t get it right. One last battle, one last cry, Just one more time before goodbye. Last year I slipped into the dark, And your old warnings hit the mark: Don’t date a drinker or an inker, You knew he’d be a reckless thinker. I hope I haven’t let you down, I hope you hear my aching sound. You said I’d lead, not follow crowds, I’m chasing dreams that make you proud. It started small—with eggs to share, In homeschool halls and homes with care. With prayers and pens and hope in tow, I’ve built it up, I’ve let it grow. So if you’ve got God’s ear nearby, Could you ask Him to soften sky? That cabin dream still lights my way, Where holidays feel warm and gray. Two winters passed—we made it through, But none felt whole without you too. We haven’t lost your laugh or light, It lingers still, it burns so bright. I wish for photos, one more glance, To sit beside you—one last chance. Not for a dance or fleeting pass, But just for one more history class. You gave me love no one could steal, You gave me space to hurt and heal. You adopted me, and gave me grace, A forever home, a sacred place. Except that last—I wish I knew If hurtful words still clung to you. I didn’t know, I missed the sign, That silence would draw such a line. I faltered in the teenage fight, You loved me back into the light. Not many could endure that storm— But you brought grace in every form. I love you more than pages say, And swear I’ll make you proud one day.