A few years back I was told that instead of waiting for a loved one to die to write their eulogy, we should do it while they are still alive. This is a great idea, I thought to myself. Then I thought of all the people I could do this for. Then I did nothing.
On May 28 my youngest child, Alee, turned 26. We celebrated with a trip to Arlington back in March that was indeed momentous in and of itself.
Last Sunday we had the opportunity to celebrate again as Alee's friends threw her quite the bash in Woodland Park at a cozy Airbnb cottage. There were plenty of people, lots of food and an abundance of alcohol. Lots of little kids, too, which explains the need for the alcohol.
When Alee told me several weeks ago that her friends were throwing her a birthday bash, I was grateful. Not just because she is my daughter and I want her to celebrate every milestone, but also because she goes all out for each and every one of her friends' birthdays. As a mother, I want to see her get back at least a little of what she gives.
Indeed she did.
One of Alee's greatest qualities, if not the greatest, is her giving heart. She gives without hesitation and without expecting anything in return. Not only does she give in tangible ways, she gives of her time. She is an honorary auntie to at least seven young kids and a biological aunt to one. She loves her friends and their kids like there is no tomorrow. It would be a shame if she doesn't become a mom because she is a natural. And simply that good.
Another great quaity is her work ethic. Since she was 16 years old, she has worked at Papa Murphy's. Working her way up, she is now an Area Supervisor, overseeing seven stores. She works like she gives: passionately and without reservation. Sometimes too much. But who am I to tell her not to work so hard? Every parent dreams of hard-working offspring. I got the lion's share with my daughter.
She is honest and open, traits I'd like to think she got from me, though she says we are nothing alike. I think she protests too much on this topic. While I see that she is much more like her father, she did get a few things from me. She is a good writer, articulate and fairly self-aware. From a young age, she has been able to tell me what she thinks and how she feels with an honesty that is sometimes difficult to take, but albeit refreshing. I always know where I stand with her.
I'm in awe of her fearlessness, especially since I have lived most of my life being timid and afraid. When she was very young, she taught herself how to pitch by watching The Sandlot. From that time on, she was fearless on the mound, so much so that her nickname was Mariano Rivera (look him up if you have been living under a rock for the past three decades or so). Alee played into high school, but injuries sidelined her from playing at a higher level. She was a dream to watch and I have the fondest memories of watching her play.
In addition to playing softball, she took ballet for several years, even doing a solo performance during one recital. I took ballet for 12 years and do not recall ever doing a solo, either because I wasn't good enough or was simply petrified. I remember watching her with tears in my eyes, transformed back to my childhood ballet days. My mom was there, too, and she said watching Alee was like watching me years before. What a priceless gift.
She won a writing contest when she was quite young, maybe 7 or 8. Again, I have been a lifelong writer, but do not remember winning a contest. Ever. Watching her bask in the glory of such an accomplishment at a young age left me proud beyond words.
I could go on and on about her endless talents, her great qualities, her tenaciousness, her strongest of wills. Since I won't be around to write her real obituary, I am taking the very great advice of the person who told me to do it now. I want her to know exactly how I feel. And who among us will ever regret saying how we feel while we still have the chance?
Alee, you are the real deal. I stand in awe of your many gifts. I'm blessed to be your mom and to watch you grow, learn, love and fall down. Then get back up. The best is still to come, my daughter! I wish I could be around to see it all. But there's nothing more you could do or be that would make me prouder.
I love you forever.
Mom