I know my mom doesn't know this, but every Mother's Day I stroll down a lane of memories of both her and my dad. You see, for the entire first year of my life my mom kept a daily diary of me. Three hundred and sixty five individual entries about everything you can imagine: The walks we took. The soup we shared. Our trips to the doctor. Even how my dad's feet hurt from working double shifts in the foundry to give me a better life than they had as children. All of the daily events of a mother and her first born son faithfully written down. Of all these pages, however, my favorite read in this little book is the Memoranda and serves as the last entry:
“Dear Diary: The first pages in this little book cover the first few months of our little darling's life. He has expressed his joys, his achievements, his every day life, so now it's mamma and daddy's chance to tell you how we feel. Seems as though it was yesterday we were glowingly looking at our firstborn son through the hospital glass, pride in our eyes as we showed him off to his grandparents. Well, our little Jamie is over a year old now and this has been the greatest happiness in our hearts. He has brought joy, happiness, adventure, and much much love into our lives. So, our little boy, Jamie, we love you so much. - Mother and Daddy”
Anyone that knows me understands that I am a sentimentalist. I am a guardian of the small heirlooms and trinkets that document where I came from and the people who instilled their values in me and molded me by their own example. This little diary, kept simply because of a mother's overflowing love of her son, is one of the greatest treasures I possess. This book was just the beginning of a lifetime of affection my mother continues to shower upon me. I am by far a most fortunate man to have her as mine.
I love you mom. I love you mom. I love you so much, mom. Happy Mother's Day.