My mother is a great woman. She isn’t perfect, but she doesn’t have to be. Even in her flaws, there’s a greatness I can only hope to approach. From the time I was young, in me she instilled values that still ring true to my soul. For that I cannot begin to show enough gratitude, try as I may.
From humble roots she came. She taught me humility. In me, she instilled an appreciation for the arts which carries me through each day of my life.
My mother taught me to not apologize for my insatiable curiosity. Instead, she satisfied that craving as sufficiently as possible, even when her resources were limited. As I grew, she encouraged me to seek out knowledge on my own.
In the most tumultuous times, my mother was always there to guide, support, and comfort. She supported me in sports, hobbies, and other deep interests.
Most importantly, my mother taught me love. Even when I didn’t deserve it, her love was unwavering. She never stopped believing in me.
My mother was my first fan. While she cooked dinner, I would tell stories long before I could read or write, and she would listen. She encouraged me to keep that creative spark alive.
Insufficient are these words for the woman who raised me, who struggled to teach her strong-willed and last child. I only hope I’ve made her proud.