Mommy. It's been such a long time since I called you that. Such a very long time . . . but I guess it's overdue. You get to hear it come out of my mouth again.
Like every teenager, I have treated you poorly many times. I've screamed at you, slammed doors while you were talking to me, and disrespected your opinion. You know, the usual. I never really realized that maybe you might be hurt by what I do.
It's taken many stories of deaths of children and the tellings of how much their parents miss them for it to really get to me: You DO care about me. You WOULD be very upset if I died, because I will forever and for always be your baby girl.
You went through nine months of me literally inside of you; you brought me into this world, and you must have been so proud. So proud to have a little baby girl. But I bet now you're mad at me, Mom. I bet you think I don't care. Don't think that, mom; I do.
I do care about you, and every time I'm gone from you I wonder what you're doing. Sleeping, cooking dinner . . . just sitting? I never will know what you do when I'm not with you, but it's probably time I start taking advantage of the times when I am.
I know that most of what I'm saying is pure feeling (and it possibly won't be put into actions), and please don't be mad when I continue to be a teenager and get mad at you. Please don't. Because I love you.
Hoping to stamp out the flames,
-x3Tacos
