Happy Birthday Mom, January 21st 2020 - a birthday poem for my mother

To what do I owe my mother, beside that I am alive
and that I breathe because she brought me into this world
messy and screaming and angry that I had to be invited
out to this big old mess. That I plant my own two feet
is a testament to those early lessons of walking and talking,
and taking a moment to appreciate each others voices,
that is, all of us, all around us, to view things through a lens
of hopeful understanding. Coming to terms that these lessons
come with much hurt, for like her, I trust too hard, too much,
too soon, and the rewards, like for her, have always seldom
been worth the pain. I owe my mother much, as I walk my walks
and talk my talks. That I can even form coherent sentences,
that I can form flowery patterns at all with language,
is because of her particular undertaking to personally teach
me to read. I know that not everyone saw her embraces
as helpful, as though she were smothering me with understanding
and affections, and saving me too often from uncomfortable
places. But, I like to think I learned a lot, and learned a lot of love,
and what it means to truly care about someone, so that I do not,
and will not see any fault in how she's done it, brought me up,
and sent me out, and held me close.

My  mother, who today, January 21st, 2020, turns sixty-years
of age, and who took the time to choose to raise us, exclusively,
focusing on us as her duty, her occupation and her joy. Washing
our laundry, changing our diapers, defending our attitudes,
addressing our wounds, as she dressed them with band-aids,
and kisses.Who does not care much if you slip up, only that you apologize,
show love, and return love that she so selfishly gives. My mother
who put her children before herself, and sometimes that breaks my heart
but she would never say it as a burdensome task, she would never claim
us to be something that held her back in this life. For she speaks
wholeheartedly and earnestly and honestly about a need to approach
motherhood, to having always wanted to raise babies, good little children,
who loved her and appreciated her, that she could treat with a fondness
she may have felt absent at times in her own life. To this charge,
and hope, I can say with great certainty, that my mother did just fine,
gave us life, nurtured us, and raised us to be loving and considerate people.

On January 21st, she was born, in the year 1960. A baby just like me,
and I never forget she experienced this world with all the faulty wiring
that makes up our human selves, she a host of a lot of hurt, a lot of hope,
and mountains of love and affection. Selfless, beautiful with a heart as bottomless
as the universe is expansive. She has room for me, and hers, and mine, and yours,
happy birthday mommy, my greatest role model, and my shiniest guiding star.