I am held every night.
“I am here for you,” He says through my tears, “I will never not be here for you.” I think, today, on all the beautiful words and actions showered on me over the years. I am blessed, and I ought to be grateful.
I remember the middle munchkin running up to me for the first time in over two months. Squeezed me like I was water in the desert. Hugs are my love language. Just the other day, he did it again. After he told me I was one of the reasons he was still alive.
The oldest is the biggest cheapskate I know. She didn’t spend a penny of her birthday cash (she gets money instead of things). But she bought me a necklace (okay it was a buy one get two free, but she didn’t have to give me one).
A man told me I had the “wings of an angel.” Who even says things like that anymore?
I receive the most beautiful, thoughtful messages from near strangers. I didn’t think anything of it, until I realized this doesn’t happen to everyone. I don’t think he’s even supposed to tell me that, in his position, but he did.
Isn’t that the funniest thing? How strangers are so often the kindest to me? Besides my closest, most loving family, of course. They could be happy if I wove baskets for a living. But, after all, they know me. These people do not.
I am not the wealthiest, nor the most educated.
I am not the smartest. Nor am I the kindest or sweetest. I am not really the “most” of anything. But despite this all, I am loved as much as anyone I’ve ever heard of.
I try to be the one that someone can trust. Like my littlest one, who has no other queer adult female mentors in her life. Only me.
Therefore, I will make this my mission. To be the one that spreads the most love.
After all, I can afford it.