God bless my mother; how dearly she loves us, and how faithfully she always has.
Our mother is so kind, so thoughtful, so caring, so smart, so incredibly strong, so faithful, and so beautiful. She is the most giving and selfless person I have ever known, and she would always be there for us, without question; she would do anything for us, and she could always figure out how to do it. Our mother gave us a great life, filled with joy, laughter, and peace, and she kept hold of it, even when it would have seemed impossible.
Out in the backyard, I remember the feeling of the crisp, green grass under my legs, the gentle wind in the desert summer, the lush, blooming red roses, and the spiney succulents rising from the ground. I loved sprinklers and water guns, and how she knew this to be. I remember the burning of the bright Nevada sun, and the warmth we felt each day. These summer days were endless in their bliss.
I am grateful every day for my mother that loves so unconditionally. I know that she would do absolutely anything and everything to help me and make me happy; throughout every hardship, every burden, she has always been so encouraging, so supportive, and so pleasant.
It occurs to me to wonder, how can someone love me this much? How could she never raise her voice, never criticize, never abandon me, and never accuse me of being a vile, terrible person? The way I feel about myself, the way I toil over everything I do, these are all things I have deserved at one point or another, but my mother would never stop loving me.
My mother is a more beautiful person than I am, inside and out. I look in the mirror, and in myself I see sorrowful, deep-set eyes, and a sore complexion boiled and charred by this life, and still my mother sees in me a beautiful, inquisitive person, someone deserving of everything good in this world. I feel so blessed every day, I strive to love so unconditionally as my mother, to give my whole heart, to be so faithful, to never criticize, and to be such a pure and true soul as my dear mother.
My father told me he loved me more than anything in the world too, but my mother has wound up being my mother and my father for some time now, and she has done it with more grace and love than you could imagine. My mother never gave up on me. No matter how far away I'd run, she would never lose faith in me. She'd go to the end of the earth if she must, and she would make it there.
Love your mother, because if she's anything like mine, she's one of the only people in this world that will keep loving you even when you stop loving yourself. And I have to remember to love my mother like she loves me, because I'm afraid sometimes I might forget how to love, if not for her. Even when I'd hide away, forget how to take care of myself, even stop speaking, still my mother would love me every last day. I didn't understand how, but she did. She never stopped loving me.