I love my mother.
If I could sing at all, I'd sing a song of praise:
Thank you for the gift of life, Maman, with all its heartache and joy.
Thank you for showing me how to love someone for your whole life. I wouldn't know it was possible if I hadn't seen it.
You're beautiful. I have a picture on my mantlepiece of you and Mara, both of you in your twenties. You're beautiful.
Thank you for always somehow knowing what I mean. For example:
Me: "I made thisfor you. It's a necklace that looks like Mimi's."
Maman: "The only necklace Mimi had like that was the one that she wore to the Halloween party in Narberth in 1957. She dressed up as a savage and Poppop was the great white hunter."
Me: "That's the one!"
Maman: "You've only ever seen it once. In a 50 year old photo. In black and white. When you were six."
Me: "It made a big impression on me! That's definitely the one."
Maman: "That necklace was made out of tiger teeth. This necklace is made out of coral."
Me: "Yeah, but it looks like it!"
[pause]
Maman: "I love you, Nae. It's a very nice necklace."
Me: "I love you too, Maman." <- See! That's what I really meant. How you knew, I have no idea. You must be psychic.
I love your mulberry sorbet and your sour cherry pie and your cherry olives and your pot roast and your chicken paprikash and negre en chemise.
I love your paintings and your photos.
I love my purple and green wool socks.
I love every memory of us laughing together, sometimes for no reason.
I love you, Maman.