While I was writing a blog post the other day, I went back through my old e-mails and chats with Mom. Looking back through those conversations, I wasn't always the son I would have liked to have been. Too easily, I let conversations die. Mom would reach out to me and I would not respond, or I would give the bare minimum answer to her questions. Once, it seemed like my Mom asked if she could come visit me in New York City in a few days and I never responded. She e-mailed me again, said she hadn't heard from me, and said she had decided not to come.
Despite my failure to always be good to Mom, she never let me feel like I was anything less than a perfect son. Mom was always looking for way to make my life better and to contribute to my happiness. She would send books and home goods she hoped I could use. She would send me catalogs and ask me to pick something out. Of all the gifts Mom gave me though, her making me feel like I was a good son, even though I wasn't always, was one of the greatest of all.