got your letter today with a copy of the
article that you had written for the newspaper.
I tried to read it to Beth as we left
the post office for our rooms. Halfway
through the second paragraph, I stopped.
I couldn't go on. I started to cry. "That's
my mom," I said. I looked at the picture
on the page. "That's my mom."
have read the article, but none of them
can say that the woman in the picture
is their mom. They haven't seen you struggling
up the stairs or crying in the middle
of the day, at the end of your rope. You're
my mom... I'm sorry for all the times
I've argued over meaningless things with
you while you're battling fatigue and
just the desire to keep going.
I'm sorry for the grief I've caused by
simply not humbling myself before you
when I should have. I read on and kept
wishing I had dropped out of school and
protected you everywhere you went. I wanted
to punch that guy as I read, more than
anyone who could have read the article,
because I am the only person in the world
that is a part of you.
I'm still sobbing as I write this, and
I guess I'm trying to tell you that I
love you very much. I know I was never
very good at saying it, but I do. I wanted
to stop right there as I was walking and
hold up the article above my head and
yell, "This is my mom, and I am proud
of her!!" I love you so much mom, and
I am proud of you.
Most people have no reason to keep going
in life, with multiple sclerosis or not,
but you press on through every painful
day, out of love for God and for dad and
I. I slack in my studies, I don't practice
my music, I don't read my bible every
day, I forget to pray, and my mom has
not ceased praying for me for as along
as I can remember, and even before. I
don't feel worthy to be your son. I love
you, mom. Deryl always had better cookies
in his lunch and Brent always got more
presents, but they won't ever have what
I have, something far greater than all
the Christmas presents and cookies in
the world, and that's you as their mom.
I'm the luckiest guy in the world. Between
you, dad and God, I got the best possible
combination a person could have. I'm sorry
it took this disease to make me truly
appreciate you mom, but through the disease
some of your best qualities have come
through. Just ask dad. I love you mom.
I'll let you go, I'm probably not making
PS: I love you too, Dad!