Dashing through the snow..
"Now, don't be afraid."
Mom, I'm not afraid. I'll be fine.
"Well it's just that I know it's going to hurt. But it's just physical therapy, and you-"
Mom, really. It's okay, I'm okay.
"But it's your writing hand, and I know you love writing. Matt, I...I saw you looking at your book last night."
..Mom... Spying on me is... Its really..
"I wasn't spying, really. I was checking up on you, you were just so awfully quiet."
She worries about me, but I'm thankful to her.
I remember the look on her face when I brought her two dozen roses and a necklace with my birthstone in it, for Mothers Day. She started to cry and hugged me, and I said I wouldn't trade her for the world.
Yeah, I'm a momma's boy. With her, you kind of have to be; it's just that unavoidable.
She makes you want to bend the universe, if only to see her smiling; you never want to let her down, you never want to make her worry. And I know I do, so I wanted to give a shout out to her, even if it's just in the form of a blog entry.
I love you, mom.
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