Mom,
There's a version of every good thing in me that started with you.
The patience I try to have. The kindness I try to lead with. The way I show up for the people I love. None of it is really mine — it's all just echoes of how you raised me.
I'm still living off the time and care you poured into me. The meals. All the weight you carried in silence, so the world could feel gentle to us. The Saturdays you gave up so I could be where I needed to be. The hundred small moments of patience you chose with me, especially on the days I made it hard.
I don't tell you enough, but I wouldn't be half the man I am without you. Not even close.
You are, and have always been, my softest place to land.